


10-4, Good Buddy

by AgentBuzzkill, CaptainDynamic



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkward Sexual Situations, Canon-Typical Violence, Denial of Feelings, Eventual Romance, Gay Sex, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Other, Resolved Sexual Tension, Roleplay, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2018-04-27 12:43:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 89,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5049067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentBuzzkill/pseuds/AgentBuzzkill, https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainDynamic/pseuds/CaptainDynamic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'North had no idea what he wanted to do. And he had a feeling York would be itching to do something now, now that they both lost someone to the meta. They both had vendettas now, reasons to set off on some grand adventure seeking revenge for the wronging of their loved ones.'</p><p> </p><p>*This is an RP between two people, and it reads as such.*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. South

**Author's Note:**

> This is the 'North and York totally survive, shut up' AU.
> 
> North is AgentBuzzkill (baegentnorthdakota.tumblr.com)  
> York is CaptainDynamic (qrowb.tumblr.com)
> 
> *General word of warning: This is going to be long as hell, so folks.  
> 

York took a deep breath.

He heard a clear voice in his head, saying, ‘ _It is likely Agent North will be emotionally constricted with the news of Agent South’s passing._ ’

_I know, D._

_‘You should tell him.’_

_You think so?_

_‘I have found that human drive is affected strongly by emotions. Agent North will be more determined in any possible battle situation with the knowledge of a revenge pursuit. Agent North is particularly good at acting under pressure, more than other agents were.’_

_Huh…_

_‘… and if I was in his place… I would want to know. Remember what happened with Agent Carolina?’_

_What did I say about mentioning that, D?_

_‘Of course. Sorry, York.’_

 

The man in tan armor sighed. He looked back at the communication beacon, and then finally left the makeshift communications room to find North. He didn’t have to look far, as they were the only two people in the abandoned base. His eyes saw the familiar purple armor, which had definitely seen better days. Something about North’s purple and green always helped just seemed so fitting for the man York had come to know.

 

It seemed wrong to think that they would never see the lighter purple soldier next to him again. Man, things really went to shit after the Epsilon thing. York hadn’t seen Texas since they took on Wyoming, and he had no idea where Omega was, now. He just remembered getting shot and then Delta telling him he needed to get up before recovery came for him. A small part of him hoped that Tex was okay, but he knew better than to actually get his hopes up. Freelancer had definitely taught him a number of lessons, if nothing else.

 

“Hey, North… uh, D was able to boost the communication signal and get into the old channels…” York was glad his helmet was on, since he knew his face was giving it away. He wasn’t good at lying, and withholding truths fell close to lying.

 

Delta appeared in front of York. ‘ _York is trying to-_ ’

“D, let me do this, resign.”

‘ _Executing_.’ The green guy disappeared as quickly as he had appeared.

 

“It was Recovery One… Wash… he had to dispose of South’s armor… the Meta got to her.” York watched carefully, and quickly added, “I’m sorry.”

 -

In the quiet expanse of what was once the mess hall of the abandoned base they'd managed to make theirs, North let his mind wander. Normally he would be pacing, trying to exert extra energy through walking or exercise. He never liked being off his feet for too long. But he was in the tail-end of his recovery from nearly dying, and while his energy and physical ability were nearly where they had been before, his endurance still needed some time to build back up. Even then, he feared he would never be at the physical state he'd been in before.

 

But he didn't like to let his thoughts wander too far in that direction. He could still feel the phantom pain of his wounds, his scars were still a bright pink against his pale complexion. Still, it was hard to keep his mind from wandering too far out of his reach. He was getting used to having his mind to himself again.

 

The back of his neck ached with a phantom itch, and he scratched at it irritably.

 

He looked down at his helmet on the table in front of him, at the scratched visor and fading paint. Back on the Mother of Invention they had been able to keep their armor in much better condition. Some of the dark purple paint had faded to a familiar lighter shade.

 

He could almost imagine her sitting next to him, her presence familiar and comforting the way only a sibling's company could be. He could see her in the room they shared as children, trying to find a page in the coloring books they had that he hadn't already drawn in. She would usually settle for finishing something he'd started to color and left when something else caught his attention. He could see her complaining about having to wear a matching outfit with her brother for a family portrait at age sixteen. He was so used to matching her, to sharing things with her. When they'd both gotten purple armor, he'd laughed at her scowl. He supposed he hadn't realized that maybe she'd wanted to join Project Freelancer to start carving out her own identity, to go from being half of a set to a singular unit.

 

Despite everything she'd done, he still hoped she was okay. He wasn't quite sure if he hated himself for that or not.

 

At the sound of York's voice North looked up and listened patiently. It still amused him to see how insistently Delta would butt in to conversations, despite the fact that whenever the AI was around for too long it made his head hurt.

 

At York's words though, he felt a wave of something grim and heavy pass over him and settle in his stomach. He wasn't entirely sure what to think, his train of thought interrupted for something he had never wanted to hear. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to figure out what he was supposed to say. His head felt light. He was pleasantly, terribly numb.

 

His twin sister had tried to kill him. His twin sister had helped someone rip an AI that had quickly become an important part of himself out of his head. His twin sister had left him for dead.

 

Was he supposed to be happy?

 

He became aware that he couldn't see York's face, that the other man had his helmet on. It left North feeling exposed, vulnerable, like he was sharing too much by letting York see his face as he processed the news.

 

"What do we do now?" he asked, surprised at the lack of a tremor in his voice.

 -

Seeing the look on North’s face change impacted York more than he would have thought. It really hurt. Hearing South was gone was already a shock, but the look in North’s eyes really cemented it. York found his hand reaching for where he stored his lighter, but he stopped himself. He thought he had come to terms with that, but losing South just reminded him of how quickly it seemed their team was splintering and falling apart. Hearing Wash’s voice on the radio had been a shock of its own, too. He sounded so hardened now, nothing at all like the soldier York used to joke around with.

 

York used to do a lot of thinking about what marked them as different soldiers and how they worked together. He saw it as unlocking the group dynamic in his thoughts, and Delta had certainly helped with observations, too. He wished in that moment that he knew how to help North. North was always the one that seemed to be there when someone wanted to talk. He couldn’t bring himself to joke about it, like Reggie would. He never physically worked through his aggression like Carolina, either. In terms of their jobs and field abilities, York understood Project Freelancer. Beyond that… it was hard to tell.

 

It suddenly felt weird to be wearing his helmet, to look through his HUD at North, and his hands found the latches of his helmet easily enough. He set his helmet down next to North’s, wishing he had the words his friend probably needed to hear, or that he knew at all how to best help his friend. He didn’t want to imagine the silence that losing Delta would feel like, and while he couldn’t possibly understand the bond twin siblings had, he did his best not to think about losing Carolina. Then again, York had always been the kind of person to push away his feelings. He could usually let things go, or at least not be affected by as much as others seemed to be. It was truly impossible not to feel the ripping of one’s soul out as their team, their closest acquaintances were struck down like dominos.

 

York ran a hand through his hair in a nervous habit, looking at North. He sat next to his friend and put his arm around him. It felt natural, and almost took him back. North’s shoulders seemed as good a place as any for his arm. Still looking to the right at his friend, he responded, “We can do whatever you want. If you want to forget about all of this, we can do that, if you want… revenge, we can certainly do that. If…”

 

He cleared his throat, trying to ignore whatever it was causing pressure when he spoke. He hoped it wasn’t raw emotion, but he had a sinking suspicion. “If you want to be on your own, I’ll understand.” He let his arm fall off North’s shoulders and it came back to his side, tan armor touching purple. “Since I still have Delta, it’s likely The Meta will be looking for us. I don’t want to force you to deal with that.”

 

The thought alone of being apart from North kind of frightened York. Before everything, he used to love time to himself, time to think and time to relax and hear nothing. Maybe read a book he downloaded, just to pass the time. He’d seen too much, knew too much to appreciate silence, now. Silence was just what happened right before something big, it’s where enemies hid and terror is born. York tried not to hear Delta talking in his mind, ‘ _it would be unwise to part from Agent-from North. If the Meta were to find us on our own, the survival rate is not high… and you would miss him._ ’

 

_It’s not always about what’s best for success in defeating the enemy, D. Survival goes farther than continuing to breathe. What did I say about emotions?_

_‘Just one of the things that makes us human.’_

 -

York’s presence was almost soothing, and North tried to focus on his voice to block out his racing mind. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do, but York’s suggestion of being alone sent a rush of loneliness through him that felt like ice settling in his veins. He thought of what that would be like, wondered what he would even do if he was left alone to his own devices, left to grieve by himself. 

 

“I-I really don’t want to be alone,” he was quick to say, turning to look at York. He missed the comfort of the man’s arm around him, but he settled for the phantom warmth of York’s arm pressed against his, taking whatever comfort he could in the presence of his best friend. He felt deeply grateful in that moment that he had someone with him, especially of that someone being York.

 

Then again, he had no idea what he wanted to do. And he had a feeling York would be itching to do something now, now that they both lost someone to the meta. They both had vendettas now, reasons to set off on some grand adventure seeking revenge for the wronging of their loved ones. The last thing he wanted to do was hold York back from getting whatever closure he needed.

 

Even so, North couldn’t muster up the anger within him. He was certain it would come, as the rest of his grief would come in time, but he wasn’t sure when that would be. He wasn’t sure who the anger would be directed towards. Part of him wanted to hunt down the meta and end the danger he posed for good. But another part of him was just tired. Tired of losing people. Tired of watching his teammates, his friends, his family, die at the hands of people who couldn’t care less about their lives.

 

Part of him wanted to take York and leave Delta for the meta to find and run away and hide forever. But he knew that he really didn’t want to do that. He would never force York to give up his AI, not after the pain of losing Theta.

 

“I don’t know what I want right now,” he admitted in a small voice. “I just...I guess I knew that this was coming. I just didn’t think it would be so soon. I-I guess I thought-” his voice cracked, and he felt his eyes sting with the sudden presence of tears. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried. “I guess I thought I’d be there. That at the very least I could get the chance to say goodbye, even if we were on opposite sides.”

- 

York let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when North said he didn’t want to be alone. Of the Seven Deadly Sins, York’s would be pride. He recognized his faults, but he would never let himself admit that he couldn’t handle being alone. He was grateful North didn’t put him in that place. As a soldier, York didn’t mind being on his own for missions. He didn’t always like the pressure of having someone watch when he picked locks. He could deal with it just fine, but it was just somewhat annoying when he didn't have the chance to show off. Hell, even Delta got on his nerves from time to time. If asked about it ever, York would grin and say it was part of their charm.

 

To say he didn’t want revenge would be a lie. But, he couldn’t blame Maine-the Meta, he reminded himself- for Carolina. He knew that it was _her_ pride that ended up causing what had happened. In a way, she was just as prideful as he was. The difference was her pride was to prove herself, to the director and Tex and everyone, but York’s was usually to prove to himself that he could do the things. He’d worked hard to be where he was during Freelancer. He was damn proud of the skills he possessed, but he wasn’t proud of the reasoning for some of them.

 

Ever since Tex had enlightened him on the program, he’d blamed the Director and the Counselor. His rage wasn’t aimed at Maine. York distinctly hates saying ‘the meta’. Maine was his teammate, and he wasn't about to forget that fact. When Tex had showed York the files, before they broke back into the Mother of Invention, he had initially been concerned about Delta. He knew Delta didn’t know beforehand, but since Delta was all of the logic of the Alpha, he didn’t possess the emotions that were necessary to process the information like a person would. In fact, York had to explain to him why it was horrible. Delta said that it made sense, and he archived the information.

 

Seeing North start to cry and hearing his voice crack was one of the worst experiences York had encountered. His arm immediately went around North again, not because he wanted North to feel it, but because experiencing North’s sadness made York want to be the one to help him. He pulled North toward him a little bit, his left hand reached across the front of North’s abdomen, and he held the taller man against himself. His hands held the armor maybe a little too tightly, but it wasn’t noticeable. He’d personally missed closeness, and found it extremely reassuring. In some kind of way, he felt holding North would keep him from completely falling apart. He realized he would do anything in order to keep North going.

 

“We can figure it out as we go along,” he spoke softly, given their closeness. “And… I-I know what you mean. Like… you wish you could’ve just… made her see reason.” York chose words that fit both of their situations, and immediately thought about North instead. It didn’t hurt less, but it was in front of him and not a hole inside of him.

 -

North immediately leaned into York's touch, eager for any kind of contact. One hand raised to clutch at the hand York splayed across his stomach. The other reached behind York, clinging to his back and pulling him closer.  He'd missed this comfort, the way they were able to know what the other needed without words. They'd kept a friendly distance from each other recently, each wrapped in their own thoughts, and the silence had been getting to North. He'd figured York had been giving him space as he healed. He forced a bitter smile. Of all the things to get them talking again, it had to be the death of his sister.

 

He suddenly had a deep regret that he had stayed with Project Freelancer for as long as he had. But he couldn't have left South, and South wasn't going to leave without her AI. He'd gotten swept away in his own excitement for the project, too eager to prove himself and too excited to be sharing such an experience with his sister. He'd thought they could finally be on equal ground, that the project would help them find the perfect niche for them to fit into.

 

He had realized too late that they had never been fighting for anything, that they were little more than guinea pigs to the Director, and the realization was crushing.

 

He found himself missing Theta in that moment, as he clung to York. The silence in the back of his head was deafening, a constant aching reminder. It was hard on some days, to stop himself from resenting the fact that York still had Delta.

 

He knew that York wasn't just talking about South, and he knew how much the man had cared about Carolina. He'd watched York watch her and pressed down his own feelings in favor of supporting his friend. And when the meta had ended her life he had been there for the aftermath. He had wanted so badly to hate her, for the way she antagonized South and ignored York in favor of the leaderboard, but he couldn't. Not with the way he saw York look at her. He didn't think he had it in him to hate a dead woman now, not when he had to hate so many people still living.

 

"She had her own reasons for doing what she did," he replied quietly. "And maybe she could have been convinced. But maybe not." He blinked hard, trying to keep the tears at bay. "We've just got to learn to live with the fact that we'll never know."

 -

Even through the armor, the pressure from North’s hands felt good to York. It was reassuring in a way that York wasn’t really used to. He wanted to think he’d given North space in order to give him time to think, in order to recover from what had happened with South and Maine. But, if he was being honest, it was largely because he didn’t know what to say, or how to help. He tried to ignore the feeling of being useless.

 

York recognized that he wasn’t always thinking about others, but he was really trying with North. And after what happened with Tex and Omega, he was worried about his friend. Maybe that was why he tried not to have Delta around when North was there. If there had been any kind of bad effect, he didn’t want to trigger it somehow. Theta and North had been one of the best teams of Agent and AI. York still couldn’t even imagine what it might be like. Ever since Washington… well, he recognized how lucky he and D were.

 

Despite all of the messed up parts of Freelancer and all of the bizarre situations, with hindsight it was easy to say that those times were actually simpler than York would have thought them to be. Compared to the past few months, watching Carolina check the leaderboard every morning and training in the various combat forms they did was a walk in the park. What is training to application, after all? Things were definitely easier with a team; that was obvious.

 

Some part of him, the same part that mindlessly flipped his lighter open and closed at night, always tried to think positively. Even through all the shit, it was easier to have some amount of hope. He’d been called a ‘hopeless romantic’ by Wyoming before, and he couldn’t exactly deny it. He only recently wondered if he hadn’t just longed for the idea of the teal-or was it turquoise?-armored girl. He’d thought it was fate, or destiny, or whatever you want to call it. It was only recent that York had come to think maybe they _did_ make their own fate. Somehow, the knowledge didn’t help his hands from gripping the lighter, or his dreams from containing fiery red hair. Though, as Delta pointed out, the dreams were happening less frequently, particularly since he’d found North.

 

When North spoke, the expression on York’s face hardened just slightly. He knew North was right, about both South and Carolina. It didn’t make dealing with it any easier, though. It was difficult for him to let things go. He could ignore them, but he’d still feel the ache in his chest. York liked to think he was a simple man and that he was easy-going and carefree, which was what he projected to the world. Maybe he held onto his failures a little too much for that, though. It was easy to ignore the emotional crap… most of the time.

 

“I guess you’re right…” York told his friend, looking down to their hands. It seemed calming enough. His voice wasn’t as strong as he wished it was. “I just… well, I wish you weren’t,” He admitted quietly. Somewhere deep in the part of his thoughts that York ignored, he knew it felt good to talk to his friend, again. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the man.

 -

North was just glad that the other man wasn't pulling away or making moves to put distance between them again. The past few weeks had been far too quiet, and even if they said very little it was still just nice to feel like he wasn't being a total burden on his own friend.

 

He'd worried about that for the longest time as he'd recovered from what South and the meta had done to him. The last thing he wanted to do was hold York back or keep him in a place he didn't want to be. He wasn't sure for a while that York wasn't just helping him recover out of some sort of obligation, some need to keep whatever he could of Project Freelancer together. And the last thing North wanted to be was an obligation, especially if what York really wanted was to be alone.

 

He was hoping he was still wrong about that. Especially with how good it felt to just be close again. It was easier when York was around to think that he still had something positive in his life. He'd never really been a pessimist _per se._  Certainly, when put next to South, he'd looked like a pretty happy-go-lucky guy, but for the longest time he'd just considered himself to be a realist. It was getting harder to call himself that, though. Now that his reality had so little for him to be happy about.

 

After seeing what had happened with Wyoming immediately after losing Gamma, North had tried his best to keep the same from happening to him. He wasn't sure how successful he'd been though, considering he had no idea how to prevent the effects of such trauma, or if there was even a way to stop it.

 

His dreams had started to feel too real lately. He knew they were dreams because in them he still had Theta, and he felt the phantom comfort of the AI in the back of his head. They were somewhere quiet and calm, usually the Mother of Invention. Lately the dreams had been putting him in the base they were staying in now and that worried him, because the calm only lasted so long before the meta found him. In the dream, he knew that the meta had already come for the others, that he was the last one left, that they were all dead because of him. They'd died protecting him and their lives were for nothing, because he was about to die too. His legs felt too heavy to move, let alone run. He could do little more than cower in fear as the meta approached, and it was then that he heard his sister laughing at him. The meta would grab him, reach for the back of his neck, and the memory of that blistering pain, at Theta screaming, was usually enough to force him awake. It took him a while to come fully back to reality then, as his head ached and his sister's laughter echoed in his head.

 

He hadn't mentioned it to York of course, why would he? It would only cause unnecessary worry. As long as the man was still okay when North went searching to make sure his dream hadn't fully come true, he would be fine.

 

"I really wish I wasn't right either," he admitted. He tried to keep his voice strong, but he wasn't sure if he was doing the best job. "It means letting go and...I don't want to do that. I don't think I'm ready for that." He was silent for a moment before adding, "But if I don't let go, I'm scared of what might happen to me."

 -

York’s left hand shook a little bit, so he tried to tighten his grip on North’s armor. He usually had steady hands. He wasn’t a sniper by any means, but it had never been an issue before. He assumed Delta would tell him it was the difference between battle stress and emotional stress. That, or he’d wonder why York was still holding on.

 

It dawned on him that holding on could potentially make him as reckless as Carolina and South had been, especially at the end. All of the thoughts brought him back to how useless he had been, in the end. No amount of wishing she’d done differently could change it, either.

 

_York still remembered stumbling onto North, but he’d spent the quiet time since trying to forget about it. He’d finally zeroed in on what he’d kept being heard referred to as ‘the meta’. The second he saw the domed helmet, it all clicked into place. He had seen Maine follow after a lighter purple figure, and wished he didn’t notice the subtle differences in Maine’s movements._

_He remembered hearing the Dakotas had been on the mission together, and he quickly felt an inability to breathe. Delta found North, with a faint trace of a pulse. The tan armored man had immediately told Delta to help him, to do anything he could. He’d picked up North’s body and left behind a grenade, hoping North’s recovery beacon went dead with the blast. Whoever was on recovery for command had been getting places quickly, cleaning up after the Meta._

_The relief York felt when Delta told him North was stable and sleeping was difficult to process. When they’d made it to the makeshift base, York realized how tired his arms had gotten. He’d set North down and undone the clasps on the other man’s helmet. He put an old blanket under North’s head and ran his fingers through North’s light hair. When he woke up, York had told him everything he knew, and North had shared what he had known. York had already heard that South had been the one who shot North first, and it wasn’t exactly pleasant to hear the other man tell it._

_The only shock that came near how bad South’s betrayal had been was North telling York that Washington was on Recovery, now. Last he’d heard, Wash had still been… recovering from Epsilon. That was when York had tried to give North some space_.

 

York hated everything about what had happened. Delta was quick to tell him the counter for how many times he muttered that, and it was getting rather annoying. He hated not knowing for certain what would happen to them, and to everyone else. He couldn’t even fathom what had happened to Maine. Still, he wanted to be able to protect his best friend.

 

“I… can’t promise everything is gonna be fine… obviously, but,” York tried to focus on North in his arms over anything else that may have been trying to get to him. “As long as I can help it, I’m not gonna let anything happen to us, not after everything we’ve been through…” He wanted to promise that he could move on from everything, but ever since the siege on the MOI, he knew he’d be worried about the entire project and the real military until he knew it had been taken down. Still, now that North was doing better they could at least practice their skills and stay sharp.

 -

"We certainly have been through a lot, haven't we?" North said with a laugh, though it felt a bit hollow. He'd gotten a lot more than he'd bargained for, he knew that. But the only thing he could do now was try to get stronger. He had to protect them, had to make sure York was safe and Delta wasn't stolen. He focused on the determination to do that, tried to let it give him whatever strength it could. He pulled away from York only enough to be able to look at his face, still holding tightly onto his hand.

 

"The meta is coming for us," he said grimly. "He wants all the AI. He'll be searching for Delta. With the way he's managed to get the others I would think we don't have long."

 

He couldn't bear to think of that thing in Maine's armor as anything but the meta. He'd known Maine. He could still see him in the locker rooms on the MOI. He'd sparred against him plenty of times. He wasn't sure if he would have ever called him a friend, but Maine was friendly enough before he'd gotten his AI. Theta had always been so scared around Sigma, North didn't go around Maine much if he could help it after that. Still, Maine had never given him a reason to dislike him until he'd ripped out his AI and left him for dead.

 

North traced York's features with his eyes, looking from one eye to the other. He forgot sometimes that York was basically half blind, but he guessed that was probably a good thing. The milky white eye and scars running down his cheek did little to dull the overall handsomeness of his features. Still, when that grenade had detonated right next to York's face, North had feared the worst. He'd tried to rush to his side but Carolina had beaten him there, and her constant presence through York's recovery had meant that North had never gotten a moment alone with him. Of course once York proved himself fully functional again she'd gone right back to her obsessive training. He'd felt a terrible bitterness towards her when she'd done that, as he'd watched York stay up late to watch her train and follow her around like a lost dog.

 

 _If you're not going to care about him_ , he'd thought, _then why make him think you will?_

 

Looking back, he supposed he might have been a bit jealous, but he tried to think about that as little as possible. It didn't do much good now, after all.

 

"What do you think?" he asked, still looking at York's face. "Should we stay here?"

 

North wasn't sure he was cut out for a life of running, not with his paranoia as high as it had been lately, but if they stayed here for much longer they risked being sitting ducks. His fingers itched to be holding his sniper rifle. He'd done little else but clean it lately, with a nature that even he had to admit bordered on obsessive. But it wasn't like he had anything else to do besides sit and wait and fear the worst.

 

He wondered how far Wash would be behind the meta. He was on Recovery now, if they died he'd be the one coming to collect them. Morbidly, North wondered if Wash would react at all to their deaths. He had to be familiar enough with death by now. Something about the thought of Wash being a shell of the person he once was, of being so incredibly sad and lifeless and living such a lonely life, made North's heart ache. He didn't want to think of Wash as anybody but the happy person he'd been when North had become his friend.

 -

The corners of York’s mouth turned up at North’s first words. The hollowness was a mutual feeling. His shoulders slouched just a bit. Most days, York was able to tolerate the eye loss. He enjoyed reading sometimes, but didn’t do too much of that anymore, the headaches were too annoying. York wasn’t self-conscious about the eye. He just saw it as a weakness he had to cover for in battle. The last thing he’d wanted was pity, and he was certain that was what had fueled his quick recovery. He’d always hated being sick or weak, so he always tried to be strong in other’s eyes. He didn’t let others comfort him; maybe that was why he had always gotten along with North so well. It had been so easy to banter with their personalities. And seeing North get just annoyed enough that he unwound was always fun.

 

York didn’t even try to hide the frown that appeared when North stated that the Meta wouldn’t be far behind them. It just never seemed to end. York wondered if they’d be alive long enough to be beyond the reach of the Director’s actions. He looked hard at North’s hand on his, specifically not wanting to see the look in those familiar blueish eyes.

 

Maybe York should have held a grudge against Maine and Wyoming for his eye. That entire day was one big rush of hazy memory and pain, but he’d been informed of what had happened. There was a small amount of him that definitely resented the two of them a little bit, but he had always pushed it aside for the good of the team. He wondered later if it wasn’t their call to use live rounds. Even then, a grenade?

 

No. York had stopped trying to figure out what had happened a long time ago. Still, with everything Maine had done since, it should have been easy to put him in the ‘enemy’ category, especially after York had found North.

 

Still, knowing that Maine… the Meta was looking for him sent chills down his back. York could remember fighting alongside Maine on missions and thinking that it was a good thing the man was on their team.

 

“I think… we either move, or we stay and fight,” York spoke slowly, his voice still softer than his normal speech. He didn’t need Delta to inform him of the tactical advantages to knowing the area where they would be attacked. “We can set up defenses and face him, or we can do our best to put it behind us… D?”

 

The green light appeared in front of them. ‘ _I am unable to determine the outcome of a match with the meta, because I do not possess the information necessary… That is, I do not know the entirety of the abilities and other AI he has taken. However, there are statistical advantages to setting up our own defenses. Agent North is correct; I believe the Meta will not be far behind us. With each Freelancer he takes out, the number of agents with an AI becomes smaller. I… believe there are not very many left._ ’

 

York knew he would say something like that, but hearing it out loud wasn’t exactly a walk in the park. Being an ‘infiltration specialist’ meant that York was often in the peripheral. He didn’t like knowing that he was a target, though how could anyone? York had tried to ignore the thin fear and paranoia that never seemed to leave. He waited to hear what North would say in response to D’s comment.

 -

Even though North knew most of what Delta was going to say, hearing him confirm it still caused a stab of painful grief in his chest. When Delta spoke, it physically hurt, too. There was a terrible throbbing pain in the back of his neck where his implant had once been. He tried to stop the grimace that threatened to twist his lips and he blinked against the green light of the AI in front of them.

 

"I guess I figured that," he said, nodding a bit. "We'd be better off fighting a defensive battle. And even if we don't know when he's gonna be here, the fact that we know he's coming already gives us a bit of an advantage."

 

He bit his lip, running his thumb over York's hand still in his. "I know he has a brute shot, one that he likes to keep pretty sharp. At this point we know for a fact that he has Omega. And Theta. He could really have any number of armor enhancements or AI. I guess that's not enough information to make accurate predictions, is it?"

 

He didn't like going into any kind of confrontation without plenty of knowledge about his opponents. The idea that the Meta could have most of their AI and armor enhancements by now was scary, scary enough to fill his stomach with nerves. He looked back at York, trying to find any answers or comfort he could in the eyes of the other man.

 

"It doesn't feel good to sit here doing nothing," he said, "but what choice do we really have? If we run he's just going to come after us. As long as you have Delta..." He looked between York and Delta, unsure. "He's going to be after us."

 

He knew he was just stating facts, but it still felt like a guilt trip. It wasn't as if he wanted to convince York that it would be safer for them to split up. He figured quite the opposite was true, they had a better chance of surviving together and the idea of being alone was one that he didn't even want to consider. But the fact still remained that York having Delta painted an enormous target on their backs.

 

"We'll just have to defend our turf," he said grimly.

 -

York looked at North’s thumb, and it registered as feeling nice. It helped him breathe easier, if nothing else. York very slightly nodded at Delta, and the green figure disappeared. It felt weird to have both of them interacting ever since they’d been reunited. The tan-armored soldier could understand the air, and it did feel weird not to see the little purple hologram of his friend’s AI. Theta was one of the AI York had always liked. He hated the image of Theta being with anyone other than North.

 

At North’s summary of the knowledge they had on the AI Maine-the meta possessed, York felt even more uneasy. He pictured the last time he’d seen Maine, just barely when he saw him chasing South. The brute shot was an impressive weapon, and Maine had always kept it sharp, that was true enough. “Eta and Iota, too,” York spoke before he realized what he’d said.

 

He, too, felt uneasiness about standing still. With how fast-paced the project had been, and even his training in the military before that, York was never one to slow down. He’d always lived in the moment, and he had done his best to make those moments meaningful and different. All those lifetimes ago, and he still couldn’t stand doing nothing. After a day or two of breathing after missions, York always had to keep his hands busy. He used to do puzzles and various dexterity exercises, especially when he was sitting around for a long time. He used to watch Carolina’s excessive training and let his thoughts roam, mindlessly moving a coin across his knuckles. One of the reasons York thinks he was drawn to her had been her determination.

 

York knew somewhere deep down that having Delta was a threat. However, he chose to believe that Maine-… the Meta would track him down either way, if only for his armor enhancement, his healing unit. Neither York nor Delta even considered splitting up as an option. It just didn’t make sense. Delta could explain it as the maximum efficiency or something clever with too many descriptive words.

 

He nodded slowly, and then finally lifted his gaze to look at North. “Yeah… looks like it.” York hated whatever look he was seeing in North’s eyes, and he kept talking, “Good thing we know what we’re doing, huh?” His expression was soft, and his one good eye had a small light, his stubbornness kicking into his refusal to let the Meta win.

 -

North couldn’t help but give a small smile back. It almost felt like old times, seeing York look at him like that, and it took him back to the nights that he would spend on the MOI watching York watch Carolina train. He could see the features of York’s face in the dim shadows cast over it, throwing his cheekbones into sharp relief and defining his jawline. They all worked out a fair amount of course, but York’s shirts seemed put under more strain than the others (or perhaps, North had thought, he got shirts in a size smaller than he should on purpose) and the muscle that was normally hidden underneath his armor could be plainly seen. It was easiest to see when York leaned back in his chair, propping his feet up on the table and sipping his coffee. It usually left North ignoring the fact that he was spending most of his time on the MOI staring at his best friend and trying to battle a sexuality crisis.

 

He guessed that back then was the best time for that to happen, given the situation they were in now. He’d come to terms with his feelings, come to terms with the fact that York clearly did not reciprocate his interests. He’d gotten good at burying his feelings, so much so that it barely hurt when he let go of York’s hand and scooted away from him. Still close, but York’s arm fell from its place on his shoulder. He missed the contact immediately, but he knew from experience that the more contact there was, the longer it took for him to push his thoughts back again. Besides, now wasn’t the time to be worrying about his feelings. They had bigger problems, and he still wasn’t entirely sure that he’d even fully processed the news of his sister’s death yet. No, the feelings could wait. They could wait forever if they had to.

 

The meta was coming, and he had no idea what they were going to do. The base still had some meager supplies, but it was nothing like the tech they’d had access to during Project Freelancer. They could prepare all they’d like, but it didn’t change the fact that they had little to no idea as to when or how the meta was going to attack them. With Delta unable to give any odds it left him feeling particularly vulnerable. He was starting to feel like the Insurrectionists they’d taken out by surprise so many times, utterly helpless as the enemy snuck up on them.

 

“We should start getting ready I guess,” he said, both to give him a reason to stand and a reason to turn his mind to more important matters. "We have no idea what’s coming for us, but we should probably prepare for the worst.”

 

He couldn’t help but feel like this was the calm before the storm. Whatever end they had coming for them was waiting just around the corner, and this was the last real moment of peace they would have for a long time. North couldn’t say he was sad to see the silence broken, but at least in the silence he didn’t have to worry about either of them dying.

 -

When North moved, York’s shoulders hunched a bit. He wasn’t sure why, but he it didn’t really sit well with him. He understood the need to get to business, though. York had lived on skill and hope during the project. He realized that was child’s play. It was time to go off skill and experience. Someone might say he was a hardened soldier, now. He wished it had been that neat. He was just a man who’d been used and lied to. He wanted to stop experiencing the damn fallout from those lies, already.

 

Seeing North move and speak so definitively lit the determination in York. They had always made a great team, even though their positions on the leaderboard as well as their skillsets didn’t usually leave them in the same teams for missions. Still, on the MOI the few times York had been able to talk North into aiding him in pranks, they had worked together quite well. And talking to North had always been so easy. He and Washington were the people York had always felt the most comfortable with. He didn’t think about it too much, though. He hadn’t needed to at the time.

 

“Yeah, sounds good,” York nodded. He, too, stood up, then stretched his back out. “I know the perfect high spot for a sniper.” York hoped that by the time he got there, he’d be able to see him as the Meta instead of their former-teammate. He hoped that he would see past the emotions of losing Carolina. _Focus on the present. Focus on survival_.

 

The familiar voice in his head contributed, ‘ _That would be wise, York._ ’

 -

North followed York’s lead in stretching out. It felt good to feel the cracking in some of his joints, even if the fact that he would be a little rusty was something that worried him quite a bit.

 

He’d worried for the longest time during the last few days that they would keep running from the meta until it finally killed them. He’d wondered if that might be a good thing, in the end, that they lay down and die peacefully. Having a goal now made him realize that fighting would truly be the better option, if they had to go down, they would go down together. It felt right, somehow.

 

North figured he should try looking on the bright side, though. If they managed to defeat the meta, there was a chance that maybe he could recover Theta. He wondered if it would be dangerous to get his hopes up, if maybe he was expecting too much to come out of what would certainly be a close call at best and a death sentence at worst.

 

He felt comfortable acting as sniper, but something about staying hidden while York seemingly faced the meta alone didn’t quite sit right with him. He frowned, biting his lip again. Did York really think he’d let him take on the meta by himself?

 

“Is...that really the best plan?” he asked hesitantly. “If something goes wrong, I’ll kind of be hidden away. It’ll be hard to get to you in a pinch. Shouldn’t we do this…together?”

 -

York looked directly at his comrade. Sometimes he couldn’t tell if ideas were organically his, or if Delta contributed to them. It had stopped bothering him a long time ago. Either way, he knew that the Meta would be after him. He already had Theta and North’s enhancement. Playing bait just made sense. Besides, York was better at hand-to-hand, and North was a sniper. It was their best option. Draw in the meta, and get him. He’d know York was there, but North was the wildcard.

 

“We _will_ be doing it together, just…” he looked up at North. He was very certain, now. Maybe the numbers Delta was running was calming him and making him surer of himself. “He’s not expecting you to be here. He’ll be after me. We need every advantage we can get. Besides, you’re only just now healing. Even if you weren’t normally better at long-distance, you wouldn’t be able to keep up.”

 

York picked up his helmet and looked at the cracks in the tan paint. It really reminded him of how many months it had really been since the siege on the MOI. It felt like years.

 

Delta continued running statistics in the back of his mind, and it did help York to take the situation a lot more seriously than he may have wanted to. His avoiding emotions strategy continued to thrive inside him. He didn’t have time for that, so he shoved it to the side even more. They had a job to do.

- 

The sudden lack of emotion in York was jarring enough to startle and maybe even scare North a bit. He had never seen York grow so cold and clinical and he assumed that York was holding some mental discussion with Delta. The exclusion from the conversation sparked irritation in North, only made worse by the news he'd received that day, and maybe later he could admit that he was a bit of a ticking time bomb of emotion at the moment but it was hard to think much past the anger surging through him.

 

"So that's it?" He asked icily. "I go up and hide and just have to watch and deal with it if something goes wrong?" Logically he knew that Delta was probably giving them the strategies with the best odds, but not being able to hear those odds himself wasn't very comforting. "I'm glad you and Delta have this all figured out then," he continued, "and that I don't even get a say in how I get to watch you get yourself killed. Thanks a lot."

 

In the back of his mind something was yelling at him to just shut the fuck up. He knew he was making the situation worse by putting up a fight. The anger made it easy to block that voice, and to replace it with the idea that information was being withheld from him and that he was being treated like a child. He didn't have an AI anymore, so now he was seen as useless.

 

He picked up his helmet and quickly shoved it on, because he suddenly didn't want York to be able to see his face. It was comforting, the sudden privacy, and North let out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding.

- 

York had to remember that North had just learned his sister died, but it was hard to ignore the frustration. At the mention of Delta, York was just confused, and at the barrier North put between them, he sighed. He was really unsettled by the other man’s voice taking on any tone that made it anything other than soft and comforting. Even the times he’d heard North yelling before were almost entirely just in battle in the past. Aside from exasperated and yelling at some prank, York didn’t know if he’d ever had North’s anger directly focused on him. It was jarring, to say the least.

 

Maybe York was sleep-deprived from his paranoia and the fact that he didn’t pull D anymore. Maybe he was hiding how much it bothered him to hear how upset his friend was. Maybe not seeing North’s face anymore made it easier, or maybe York’s the dumbest ex-Freelancer ever. Whatever the true reason, he felt his own temper flare up a little bit. “What are you talkin’ about? Your weakest point has _always_ been hand-to-hand. We need to play to our strengths, and I absolutely doubt that you’ve physically healed enough to handle _Maine,_ of all people, at short range.”

 

York didn’t realize how tightly he was gripping his helmet, nor did he know the pained, determined look on his own face.

 

The small green hologram appeared. ‘ _Actually, my health scans say Agent North is back at 87% his normal health. Though, it has been a long time since he trained and he could be what I believe is the term ‘rusty.’ Or maybe he thinks otherwise,”_ Delta looked up at North’s helmet. ‘ _My calculations tell me that …_ ’ Delta paused, as he was still finishing final calculations. He kept going like there had been no pause, ‘ _Agent North, at his final practice before being KIA was most efficient at 300 to 1,200 meters distance. This is either due to his weapon of choice being the SRS99-Series 5 and the fact that he consistently practiced shooting from distances, or because his many successes at work in the field have mostly been in that or a similar position, given his role on the team. Agent North has historically shown excellent accuracy with the SRS99-Series 5 in the field, even at close ranges. However, Agent York’s M45D Tactical Shotgun and Magnum6H Handgun make him unable to fight well at distances._ ’ Delta did not consider the possibility of switching weapons, because as an AI he saw the weapons that they trained with as that human’s weapon, and the weapons were extensions of the individual who carried them. Though, he believed there were some shotguns in the old weapons’ closet, which both soldiers had successfully used multiple times before.

 -

At the tone of York’s voice and the expression on his face, North very nearly shot back with an angry reply before Delta appeared and interrupted him. At the AI’s words his scowl softened only a bit, but Delta’s voice calmed him a bit, too, especially in the wake of York’s unfamiliar change in tone. He’d never really argued with York before, and to suddenly start made unease twist in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t like fighting with his friends, and while he would very easily defend himself he normally hated to hurt the people he cared about.

 

He also had to be honest, Delta was right. It stung a bit to admit to himself that he really wouldn’t do much good fighting alongside York if his best performances in battle resulted from fighting at a distance. But just because he accepted that he was wrong didn’t mean he had to like it. The temptation to give in to being nasty and throwing words just to hurt was too strong, especially given what he’d been through that day.

 

“Fine,” he said when Delta was finally silent. “You’re right, I work better at a distance. I still don’t like the idea of you going hand-to-hand with the meta alone, but I guess I’ll just have to suck it up. If you want me tucked away in a hidey hole, that’s where I’ll be.” He looked away from York, focusing instead on the table in front of him. “I might be a little rusty,” he admitted, “but I’ll do what I can in the time we’ve got to prepare for the shitstorm that’s coming. I mean, there’s no leaderboard anymore, right? Maybe now a night spent doing nothing but training will mean something.”

- 

York physically relaxed when North said ‘fine’. His helmet relaxed a bit at his side. When North said ‘the meta’, York’s frown deepened slightly. He was very securely in a deep denial about that, or at least he had tried to be. It had been the only thing he’d really done to process everything (in that he’d done close to nothing.) Avoidance seemed to be the best solution, especially since he didn’t want to explain the various emotions to Delta.

 

The look on his face softened. “I don’t want you hiding, North… I need you to cover my ass, anyway,” he tried to joke. “If we set it up right, I shouldn’t have to go hand-to-hand. We make a good team, anyway,” York tried to smile. “I’ve sparred with Maine before, and as long as I utilize speed, it’ll be fine. He’s slower.” York put his helmet on, too, not wanting North to have to see the pathetic attempt at a smile anymore, and because North had put his on already.

 

Delta turned to York, but he could tell York was close to telling him off. So, Delta said, ‘ _I would just like to state that Agent Maine and the meta are two different entities, despite the many similarities they hold._ ’

 

“Noted,” York said, though he still didn’t feel right with saying ‘the meta’. Delta disappeared again, now that the threat level had fallen.

 -

North glanced back at York. He sighed, watching as the man dismissed Delta.

 

"You're gonna have to start thinking of him as the meta," he said quietly. "It's only going to make things harder if you call him Maine. He's not Maine anymore."

 

It had been a bitter pill to swallow at first, the sudden shift of one of his teammates from ally to enemy. The shift was made a bit easier when the man nearly killed him. It had occurred to North that if York made control think he was dead, Theta probably thought he was dead too. He couldn't begin to imagine what the AI was going through, and the worry was enough to cause more than a few sleepless nights. He missed when his sleepless nights had been caused by Theta's presence.

 

He also remembered that fighting in hand to hand combat as opposed to a distance had probably been what had nearly killed him. He would just have to cover York as best as he could and come up with a good plan to get down quickly if he needed to. It wasn't an ideal situation with only two of them around, but nothing about their current situation was ideal, except perhaps the fact that they at least had each other.

 

"Can Delta make any predictions at all on when he might get here?" North asked. "Even a guess would be better than nothing at this point."

 -

York took a deep breath. He quickly missed the fresh air that having his helmet off had provided. “I know…” he spoke quietly, unsure if North had even heard him.

 

He recognized that everything… _the meta_ had done was terrible, and that was building off all the awful things the Director and the Counselor had done. Unfortunately, York would always have a portion of himself that hoped too hard. It was one of the traits he wished he didn’t have, sometimes. He wondered if he hoping less would have made Carolina’s death any easier.

 

Instead of focusing on that, York reminded himself that the meta had been the one to throw Carolina. He’d left North for dead. He was any other adversary they’d faced before. York had killed enemies before. He felt a churning in his stomach, nerves which he dismissed as simple hunger.

 

Delta appeared once more, facing North this time. York found his earlier irritation trying to rise, but he shoved it deeper. The green dude spoke, ‘ _I calculate that the meta will approach 77 to 118 hours from now._ ’ He flickered and was now facing both soldiers. ‘ _I suggest defenses are set as soon as possible, and I should attempt to ascertain any more correspondence through the communications tower… I would also suggest we spend all remaining time after this and excluding necessary breaks that we resume training_.’

 

York nodded once, finding himself at a loss for words for a few moments. As he finally began to think of the meta as his enemy, he felt his left hand close into a tight fist.

 -

North nodded at Delta's words. He's been worried that they might only have a day or so. Having a few days to prepare put his mind at ease, if only for a moment. It might be good to distract himself with defense strategies, fortifying defenses, and setting up plans of attack. He would have to take stock of the ammo they had and see how much he could spare for target practice.

 

North watched York's posture change, watched him tense and his hand clench into a fist. It hurt to see his normally casual and seemingly carefree friend so full of stress and anger. Hesitantly, he stepped forward and reached out, pulling York close and hugging him. North closed his eyes, wondering if this would be the last time he ever held his friend like this.

 

It was easy to get lost in the feeling of York in his arms, even with their bulky armor between them, and it was almost as easy to let himself believe that they could take advantage of these last few certain days in a different way. But he shoved those thoughts aside quickly, knowing that it wouldn't do any good to get lost in familiar daydreams now. Especially not with the danger that was coming for them.

 -

Delta disappeared and returned to the familiar, methodical mumblings in the back of York’s mind. He appeared to be thinking through the various possible scenarios when facing the meta. York tuned him out easily.

 

York tensed when North initially put his arms around him, but it was a quick instinct to relax in North’s arms, and put his own around the man. He found that he was able to breathe easier. North gave the best hugs on the MOI, back in the day. York wondered how he had been able to forget that fact, and ignored whatever Delta tried to tell him in his mind.

 

Though he was accepting their state and was already mentally getting into his pre-battle mindset, they still had a bit of time. And with the knowledge of that time, York was able to feel calm and relaxed for the first time in what seemed like years.

 

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” he spoke just loud enough for North to hear him, but his eyes were closed behind his helmet. His head had found a crook in North’s shoulder’s armor to rest his head in. If he were to open his eyes, he’d just see purple, green, and black. Realizing that they still had an objective and needed to prepare, he added, “I don’t think we could have held our own against him,” referring to Delta and himself against the meta.

 

He didn’t add the part that made him emotionally vulnerable, the part that had missed North in the past months and the part he had absolutely refused when he saw North’s unconscious body. He believed that North knew what he couldn’t even admit to Delta, that he didn’t know what he’d do if he knew for a fact that North was gone.

 

York took another deep breath, and almost felt a genuine smile on his face.

- 

North smiled softly and closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of York relaxing and putting his arms around him. "I think you would have found some way to do it by yourself," North said quietly. "But I'm glad that I'm okay too," he added wryly. "It means I can be here to save your ass if you need me too."

 

It was easier to joke about nearly dying than to actually face the facts. His memories of York saving him weren't numerous, he'd been drifting in and out of consciousness during the whole ordeal. But the memories he did have were vivid, the clearest of which being the blinding pain. He remembered the growls of the meta. His sister's voice, filled with a kind of venom that he'd never heard before, even when coming from her. He remembered his panic at hearing Theta screaming for him. He'd blacked out after that, certain that he was dying.

 

He remembered waking up to York's voice, convinced it was a hallucination, a product of his own desperate wishful thinking. Everything was too loud, too frantic, and he'd wished to return to the calm of the darkness. He'd promptly done just that, and when he'd woken up again he was in a bed in the base that York had brought them to. When he woke up and saw York at his bedside he'd hoped that it might mean that they'd have a chance to grow closer, but at the first sign of his improving health York had mostly left him to his own devices. North didn't want to admit it, but the disappointment at that had hurt quite a bit.

 

"We should get to work," he said, even though he made no move to let York go.

 -

York continued to hold onto North for a few seconds more after North loosened his grip a bit. Some instinct in him felt like being as close as possible to the older soldier. An outsider may have seriously questioned the duration of the hug, but it didn’t cross York’s mind that this would be strange. The army-especially Project Freelancer- had killed basically any awkward meter he may have had with personal space. He doesn’t believe it exists, anymore. He doesn’t notice if he’s in someone’s space too much. That’s what led to South giving him a nasty shiner once, actually.

 

When they had pulled back, York felt refreshed and even more ready to face what was coming for them. He nodded and just said, “Let’s do this.”

 


	2. Maine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AgentBuzzkill as North  
> CaptainDynamic as York

The window in front of them had a clear view of the perfect day around them. North had almost wondered if there would be storm clouds on the horizon to signal the impending arrival of the Meta and that they might be forced to fight with thunder and pouring rain surrounding them. He'd always had a bit of a flair for the dramatic, he supposed. As it was, there wasn't a cloud in the sky and the sun was just beginning to drift toward the horizon, as afternoon made its way to evening. He desperately hoped that they would be able to get this over with before night arrived.

 

York stood silently to his left, and North searched for words to break the silence. They'd gone over their plan enough times. They knew what they were going to do and how they were going to do it. The EMP, a last resort that they both been reluctant in agreeing to, was heavy in the bag filled with ammo that North had hanging from one shoulder. He held his helmet in his right hand, knowing that once he put it on it meant there was no going back, they would go their separate ways and wait for the Meta and hope that the day ended with both of them still alive.

 

He didn't want to let York go and end up regretting holding his tongue about something important. But he also didn't want to make it sound like he thought they were doomed. On the contrary, he thought they had a pretty good chance of coming out of this victorious, however he also knew there was always a chance of something going wrong. And if something went wrong he would hate himself forever for not at least saying something.

 

"I think we're ready," he said, still staring out at the sky. The sun felt good on his face even through the window, and he could see a breeze rolling through the long grass around the base. "I don't think I was ever good at pep talks, though I guess compared to South I was certainly more comforting." It still hurt to think of her, and he knew it would for a long time. But he could push the ache aside for now and label it as something to deal with later if he ever got the time to.

 

"So I guess all I can say is good luck," he continued. "I think we'll be okay."

 -

The tan-armored soldier had the usual pre-mission impatience. He hated waiting around before something huge happened, and the longer he sat still, the more impatient he got. The distant, concise sound of Delta’s computations and projections of situations helped, as did North’s presence. A small smile came to his face when North spoke. “We will be,” York agreed, looking to the right to connect his sight and North’s.

 

York had heard Delta about a thousand times in the past few days, but he appeared and informed them, _yet again_ , that ‘ _I would like to remind both of you that since North’s run-in with the Meta, it has obtained both Omega and Gamma AIs. This alone makes it 28.57% more efficient in a battle. We must implement our plans as quickly as we can. We do not know if he has obtained the invisibility or temporal distortion units as well._ ’

 

York looked away from North to stare pointedly at the hologram. “We _know,_ D,” he spoke with a bit too much bitterness. “For Christ’s sake, you’ve been repeating the calculations for at least 20 hours, and you’ve said it to North at least 5 times.”

 

‘ _York, I had thought you were used to me,_ ’ Delta sounded beyond confused, and York was almost at a loss for words. The green hologram’s helmet tilted to the side.

 

“Just drop it, D,” York hissed, all of his previous calm slowly flaring. York’s helmet was on the ground with his battle rifle, next to the stairs going down he’d need to take. His pistol was on his hip and shotgun on his back. He ran a hand down his face, mad at himself for getting snappy. He looked out at the sky. The nice weather conditions might as well have been a hurricane; it felt equally as ominous to the man. But maybe that was just the pre-battle edginess.

 

The truth? He was scared. York used to do infiltration. He was used to staying in the shadows and going unnoticed. He was confident, though, and confidence meant a lot during battle. To be completely honest, he hadn’t been thinking of the EMP as an actual option. He was determined to prevent that at all costs, and he didn’t want to begin to _consider_ that possibility, so (like everything else) he shoved it to a far corner of his mind.

 -

North knew from his own experience with AI that they never really took breaks, and he could only imagine what it was like for York to have Delta constantly running numbers in the back of his mind. Despite the importance of such information he didn’t really like to be reminded of their odds either, and the fact that the Meta had obtained two more AI worried him greatly. It also meant that more Freelancers were dead or badly injured. He wondered what had happened to Tex, if she’d been killed or had simply given her AI up and managed to escape the Meta. Her death would have surprised him more, he remembered her confiding in him that she had been trying to use Omega less when they’d been on the MOI together. She was crafty enough that he could imagine her getting away from him. Maybe Wyoming did, too.

 

North frowned when York snapped at Delta. He looked over at the man as York looked away from him. “Hey,” he said softly, trying to calm York down. He put his left arm around York’s shoulders, drawing York close to his side. “We’ve spent the last few days getting ready, there isn’t much we can do now but watch and wait.”

 

His sniper rifle waited for him on the roof. He’d cleaned it just that morning and set it up there, because he’d needed to give his hands something methodical to do. A pistol and knife were strapped to his hip for worst case scenarios, but he hoped he wouldn’t have to touch them. He’d never been extremely skilled at knifework, certainly not to the caliber that CT or Wash had been, but he could defend himself effectively, and it had been a gift from South. More of a jab at his dislike of knife fighting than anything else, she’d gotten it for him the Christmas before they’d left for Project Freelancer. Even if he wasn’t sure he should, he still felt a bit of comfort at having it with him.

 

He knew York was nervous, the man’s short temper at the moment seemed to confirm that for him. He had to admit he was nervous too, they had both specialized in fields that kept them relatively out of the line of fire. To suddenly be thrown into a situation where they had to defend themselves on the field was nerve-wracking. North at least had a bit of familiarity being behind his sniper rifle, he could revert back to his old strategies and even as he’d set up his post that morning he’d felt a calm familiarity of his position settle over him. As much as he’d also like to be on the ground next to York, he knew he’d be more useful on the roof. He just hoped that if something went wrong he would have enough time to make it to York’s side.

 -

Delta nodded at North, somehow appearing as if he was trying to be comforting, as York somehow understood from the statistics the AI was now running. Delta had begun to understand people a lot better in the last few months. The green dude looked back at York. He almost sounded tired, something York had never heard in all of the time he’d been with the AI, when he just said, " _resigning._ ” Tired, and with the most amount of sass a computer program could muster (which seemed to be a lot). His hologram flickered off, but York could feel resistance in his mind. He bickered with Delta before, but they had never been angry with each other. There was discomfort at the beginning, but aside from the meaningless bickering, he’d never been actually angry with the AI before.

 

York knew that Delta could sense the regret and guilt he felt, and he hoped that the AI recognized them, and didn’t just pass it off as him being completely angry.

 

He was glad that either North was conscious of always being on his right side or just didn’t care that he would walk around North if need be. Especially before a battle, straining what eyesight he had wouldn’t be the best of ideas. It was too easy for York to look over at North and smile just a little bit. “You’re right,” he said a little quietly. North always seemed to be right about these kinds of things. It should have been annoying, but York appreciated it more than anything else. His right arm came up and rested on the armor on North’s back.

 

“We’ve got this,” he told North, and he was pretty confident that they did have it. The tension in the left side of his head seemed to lessen, and York knew Delta had probably run an algorithm to figure out which emotions York was indeed feeling.

 

Delta’s green form appeared again, _“the Meta should be here in 16 to 21 minutes_.” He seemed to be pausing for something, and he said, “ _I ran formulas through my social interaction history archives, and I believe you were displacing your pride and fear into anger at me_.” York just nodded a bit, and Delta’s hologram cut to closer to the two of them. His calculated voice said, “ _Do not worry, York. It’s just what makes us human_.”

 

York smiled just a bit at the little green dude. “Finally, he gets it,” he joked with the AI.

 -

North couldn’t help a small grin at Delta’s words, even as the Meta’s rapid approach was made clear. He glanced at York again, tried his best to commit to memory the way the sunlight caught in his eyelashes and his good eye seemed to sparkle, how his cheekbones stood out when his lips curled to form a smile and his hair seemed to look so soft when messy and forced out of place by helmets and lack of attention. The details were important to him.

 

“I guess that mean we’d better take our places then,” he said, giving York’s shoulder a light squeeze before dropping his arm. He glanced down at the helmet in his right hand, at the chips and cracks and faded paint. His armor had taken quite a beating, and even though he’d repaired it to the best of his ability, it still didn’t look too pretty anymore. He wondered if he and York would even be recognizable to anyone who had once known them. They certainly didn’t look like Freelancers anymore, he thought they more closely resembled cheap imitations of the soldiers they once were. But their skills had stayed with them, and if they could fight as well as they used to that was all that counted.

 

“Remember what we talked about,” he said, trying to keep a neutral tone in his voice. He wasn’t sure if he succeeded or not. “If you need me down there I’ll be there before you know it. Don’t hesitate to say you do, I’d rather have your pride injured than your body.”

 

He wanted to change his mind. He wanted to tell York to forget the whole plan and run away and never look back. He wanted to stay in this room, in the sunlight, suspended in time forever. He didn’t want to step away from York. He didn’t want to adjust the bag at his side and take one last glance at York before putting his helmet on. He didn’t want to give a small wave and turn and head through the door leading to the ladder that would take him to the roof. He didn’t want to, but he did it anyway.

 

It was only about two stories high, but the breeze on top of the base was still strong enough to cause noticeable noise. His rifle was a sight for sore eyes, and he relied on muscle memory to load it and take his place on watch. The view wasn’t much, the land around them was generally flat and they could see an approaching enemy easily, but the enemy could also see them. North paced about the roof, checking all directions for any disturbances, getting used to the pre-battle nerves all over again.

 

“It’s all clear up here for now,” he said as his helmet’s radio crackled to life. “I can’t help but hope that Delta’s wrong just this once and it stays that way. Maybe the Meta will just decide he doesn’t want to mess with us today.”

- 

York nodded at North’s warnings and reminders. When the time came to separate, York lightly patted North’s back twice. “Don’t worry too much, buddy,” he tried to tell his friend. He knew it was like telling a dog to stop digging a hole, or Delta to stop making predictions; it was impossible.

 

Looking up at North’s kind face, he couldn’t help but notice subtle differences from the Freelancer days. Well, really just that North looked so much more tired than York had ever seen him. It made him seem a few years older, and part of York wished he could reverse all of that and see him as he had been, when they were sparring together and running in the mornings together.

 

When North turned and put on his helmet, York gave a slight nod and raised his hand a few inches to indicate waving. He walked the other way and picked up his own helmet and his battle rifle. He put on the helmet and gave a final thumb’s up to North before heading down.

 

York stretched his arms again, making sure he was still just as limber as he had been from stretching only about 20 minutes before. For the most part, he looked at it like another mission. Sure, he was used to being on the ‘offensive,’ so to speak, but he’d trained and worked hard for his spot on the leaderboard back on the MOI. It definitely wasn’t for nothing.

 

He had North and Delta both covering him. That relieved a bit of the stress, but nothing had relieved the stupid feeling in his stomach. Delta supplied that it was nerves, but York wasn’t used to getting so nervous before missions, he was usually excited. This time it was all the fear, the worries. He almost considered making himself throw up to see if it would help, but North’s voice came through his helmet before he could further entertain the thought. A small smile appeared on his face at North's words, and he remembered everything he was fighting against, all the fucked up things the Director had caused. This could disconnect them from that fucked up shell of a failed military experiment. And they deserved to move on, so they were going to. End of story.

 

York spoke back to his buddy, “Maybe he remembered there’s a grifball tournament today and is postponing. It’s rude of him not to call ahead, really.” If an AI had eyes and the ability to roll them, Delta would be doing so at that moment. However, he had grown rather fond of York’s sense of humor, and he knew that it helped the soldier relax.

 

Perhaps ten or fifteen minutes later, the Meta was almost in viewing distance of the base. Once he saw the base, he turned on his cloaking device, but he had no guarantee that he hadn’t been seen already. Using the cloaking enhancement, he would be able to go in much stealthier, an advantage the very large suit of armor didn’t usually possess. He approached the base and quietly found the main area. His eyes caught the tan suit of armor he was seeking, and he approached slowly, brute shot in tow, glinting in the sunlight.

 

When North informed him of the visual, Delta immediately began thinking through more possibilities. The numbers should have troubled York, but the anger he’d been casting aside sparked the fear, which he turned into fuel and focus, and he was ready. This was _their_ fight; They could get back at the Meta for South, for Carolina… for everything. They could do this.

 

York could see the back of his hologram armor, and once again thought that Delta had done an excellent job.

 

A guttural growl ripped through the air, and the Meta became visible again. He had reached out to attack York’s back, but the hologram disappeared. “Think fast, asshole,” York spoke clearly, stepping forward to his new cover. He immediately began taking aim with his battle rifle, firing away. Gunshots rang through the air. York knew better than to even think about North’s shots. Unless they communicated otherwise, they were very literally fighting on either end of the battle.

 

Delta was immediately shining as a hologram in order to assess the Meta. He spoke commands just as quickly as York was able to move, or duck, or take cover again. Their synchronization was impeccable. York moved up to a closer cover and expertly pulled his shotgun off his back. He focused on following Delta’s dictated actions and his instincts, which were sometimes just as good. He heard the growl closer to him, and he stepped out from behind his wall for a second to fire his shotgun in the meta’s direction. A slight growl made him think he made a good hit. Delta continued to inform York of his surroundings. The Meta was close, and York hoped that North was hitting more vulnerable points than he seemed to be.

- 

It was nerve-wracking to see the hologram of York appear and have to wait for the Meta to attack it. Even though it was only a hologram, the stab of fear in North's stomach at the way he growled and attacked was all too real. It only reminded him that the real York could very well meet the same fate, but those thoughts wouldn't do him much good and he pushed them aside, used them as motivation to keep the Meta in his sights and keep firing.

 

It wasn't incredibly difficult to hit him, the Meta was fast but he was also a fairly large target. But the fact that no matter how much North hit him he never really slowed down was troubling. He kept trying to get good shots, but he couldn't help but feel a bit helpless. The Meta's AI certainly knew he was there, now.

 

"I'm hitting him," he said to York, "but he's a tank. Not going down easy." He kept his words short in an effort to not distract York too much, knowing that the last thing the man needed to do was lose focus.

 -

York wasn’t necessarily surprised at North’s confirmation, but he wasn’t exactly thrilled, either. His battle rifle ran out of ammo, and he chucked it on the ground next to him. Reloading a shotgun had never seemed to take so damn long, and York could still hear Delta advising him at a rapid pace as North’s shots rang through the air. York stepped out to fire again, and the Meta was closer than he had assumed. Three yards away, maybe. He quickly fired through his rounds, and saw what North had meant. That fucker was _not_ going down.

 

York could still hear Delta, ‘ _Analyzing. Take alternate cover, 7 paces forward, 5 left._ ’ He grabbed the pistol from his hip and fired at the Meta while doing exactly that. Delta was certain that York’s left shoulder had been hit, but York said nothing verbally. He couldn’t even smell the blood, and he’d felt worse pain before.

 

York spoke to North, “if I get closer, I can bring him down.” He looked back to where the Meta was and continued firing his pistol, while adjusting aim in the ways Delta was telling him. York didn’t know if North could still see them without leaning forward and falling off the roof. He moved up to use a different wall as cover when Delta prompted him to do so.

 

In that transference, over the gunfire, York could swear he heard the sound of his bones when the Meta appeared to have hit him in the right knee. “Fuck!” he recovered very quickly and turned behind the cover, quickly telling North, “flesh wound, don’t worry about it.” He ejected the empty clip and quickly slid a new one into the pistol. In the heat of battle, the adrenaline easily could keep him going. It wasn’t a lethal injury, and that’s the only thing that mattered to York.

 

York was not aware of Delta appearing at North’s side, nor did he hear the AI advise that their last resort plan be initiated.

 

As York did not have an outside view, he couldn’t see how the Meta had disappeared just before he jumped out to continue to trade fire. If he had paid attention to his tracker, he would have noticed the small dot appear to jump from one location to another.

 

Delta spoke quickly, and York gathered from it that he’d used Reggie’s time distortion. It seemed that he was barely able to use it, since the power he needed was being directed to other functions. “Watch my bad side,” York told D.

 

“ _Watching left_ ,” the AI confirmed. “ _Alert!-_ ”

 

York didn’t need him to continue, because he turned to see that the Meta was behind him, feet away. Delta analyzed that the many armor enhancements were not being powered nearly as well as they should have been.

 

“Miss me?” York dryly asked the thing his former teammate had become. He was able to quickly fire off shots, the neck, femoral artery, he was close enough to get better angles and fire more accurately. Any other opponent would likely have stopped. Any other person would not have been able to continue.

 

The Meta was not any other opponent. He closed the distance, and the blade of his weapon was shoved to dig into York’s left side, and York shouted out in pain. The Meta pulled out his blade, which now had a dull red gleam of York’s O+ blood on it. Its arm gripping his collarbone and shoulder was likely the only thing keeping York standing.

 

York was on his way to losing consciousness. “Alex,” was what he said in a quiet voice. Suddenly, York’s helmet was tumbling on the ground behind him. He heard the Meta’s growl. As the creature reached its arm for the back of York’s head, York was just as quickly dropped. He thought he could hear North talking to the Meta, but without his helmet, he couldn’t hear directly anymore. He was face down, and his vision was fading.

 

Suddenly, he felt a ripping pain at the base of his neck, a searing in his brain. “D,-” he tried to talk to his friend, but all he heard the AI say was, “ _York_!”


	3. Wash I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> North - AgentBuzzkill  
> York/Wash - CaptainDynamic

North's heart leapt into his throat and seemed to stay there as York took hit after hit from the Meta. "It's hard for me to not worry," he said in a tight voice as York ducked back under cover.

 

" _Agent North Dakota_ ," Delta's hologram appeared next to him. The AI's voice was neutral as usual, but he was speaking faster than he normally did, as if he were trying to mimic anxiety or maybe just in order to relay information at a more accelerated pace. " _I think now would be an optimal time to initiate the last resort_."

 

North nodded and grabbed the bag containing the EMP. Before Delta could leave he said, "You've done an awesome job, Delta. I truly appreciate it, and I know York does too."

 

" _Thank you, North Dakota_ ," the AI said before blinking out. North wasted no time in hurrying to the doors and down the staircase. He took one last glance down to make sure York was still okay before dashing down the stairs, nearly tripping in his haste to get outside.

 

He burst out of the doors of the base just in time to see the Meta dig the blade of his brute shot into York's side. He just barely managed to keep himself from yelling for York, knowing that the element of surprise would be what saved them now. Everything that could go wrong had so far, and it was with desperation that North grabbed the EMP in one hand, throwing the bag aside and grabbing his pistol from his hip with his free hand. Just as the Meta reached for York's neck he fired, and the shots that he managed to land in the Meta's back were enough to distract the thing and make it drop York.

 

At the sight of York's blood and the guttural sound of the Meta's growling, enraged form turning on him North realized that he had to prioritize his next moves and he had very little time to do so. He continued firing at the Meta's approaching form, and when it returned fire he took a hit to the arm that nearly made him drop the EMP. The Meta slowed as it advanced, still walking forward as shot after shot made impact in its chest. It seemed the damage it had taken from both his shots and York's were finally enough to bring it to its knees as it dropped the brute shot, though the growls it was still emitting told North that it was down but not out just yet.

 

He rushed to York's side, dropping to his knees and shoving his pistol back in its holster as fast as he could. Delta had informed him earlier that he would only have a few seconds after activating the EMP before it went off. North had wanted to spare York the pain of losing his AI, but that wasn't an option anymore. It still filled his mind with an almost overwhelming chant of _wrong, wrong, wrong, no, no, no_ as he gripped the AI implant in the back of York's head.

 

"You might want to say goodbye now, Delta," he said, waiting a moment before closing his eyes and pulling the implant out. He felt like he was going to be sick as he opened his eyes to see blood welling up from the back of York's neck. He set the implant down gingerly, trying not to look at it as he turned to his other side and reached to activate the EMP.

 

In the corner of his eye, from where he'd left the Meta on the ground, he could have sworn he saw a flash of bright purple and heard a familiar voice calling to him before the EMP sent out its pulse. The Meta let out what North could only describe as a screech of agony, and North looked back to see it fall back onto the ground, gripping its head in both hands.

 

North felt the crackling in his ear of his helmet's radio going down, and his visor's HUD went dark. It didn't matter much because he ripped his helmet off almost immediately after, turning York over onto his back in spite of the burning pain in his arm at doing so. He would return to help his friend in a moment, but he had to finish off the Meta first.

 

He wished he could take his time as he rose and made his way to the huge figure on the ground, but York was losing blood fast and the EMP had most likely taken out his healing unit too. He reached the Meta's side, bending down and taking off the thing's helmet, and it glared up at him. He could see the torment Maine's body had gone through in the fresh scars on his face, the dark circles under his eyes, and as he readied his knife he felt a grim, fierce determination take hold of him.

 

"This is for Wyoming," he said quickly and coldly. "This is for Tex and Carolina and South and Maine and _us_ and anyone else you've hurt."

 

He felt a sick satisfaction at burying the knife in the thing's throat, and as it writhed and gurgled and blood pulsed up to shine in the slowly dying light of the day North stood up. With a shot to the forehead from his pistol, the life was finally gone from its eyes.

 

North didn't stand over the body long, in fact as soon as he could confirm that the Meta was dead he rushed back to York's side and gathered him in his arms. His wounded arm burned as he pressed his hand to York's side, trying to assess the damage without really being able to see it. Blood was still slowly seeping from the wound, coloring York's armor, and the smell made North's stomach twist. He cradled the back of York's head gently in his other hand, trying to see any awareness in his eyes.

 

"York!" he shouted. "York! Come on, don't do this. I'll get you inside, we'll get you healed. Just hold on-" he tried to stand, but pain and fatigue had him crying out in pain and nearly losing his grip. Dimly, he was aware that he was panicking, but he couldn't seem to stop breathing too fast.

 

"York," he repeated, his voice cracking. "York, please. Just hold on. York." His eyes burned and he looked around, desperately trying to come up with some kind of plan. He almost expected Delta to appear before he realized that he'd just killed Delta, and his breaths came faster. "Come on, Ryan. Don't do this, not now. Not like this."

- 

York tried to focus on his breathing. It didn’t help that he could almost remember hearing Delta working out some probability that involved North and stopping someone from bleeding, Delta just said ‘him’. York distantly hoped they got to whoever ‘he’ was. It was confusing, and York felt his body rolled over, consciousness fading into thoughts about the bleeding guy and the familiar green light dissolving into darkness.

-

“This is Recovery One,” a stern, hard voice spoke out.

 

“This is Command, and-” there was distant mumblings, and the sound of frantic actions as well as the blaring of a beacon, but the soldier was not about to guess the entirety of what was happening out there.

 

“Yes, Command? I have a beacon. Actually, I think I have two. What’s going on?”

 

“You’re close, Wash, but the beacons-” The voice spoke to someone else, “are you sure? … It’s Delta and… Agent Maine.”

 

“What?” The recovery agent was trying to comprehend what he was hearing.

 

The voice from Command spoke, “Confirm last. Sending coordinates.”

 

“The Meta and Agent New York…” his voice sounded altered, but he assumed the radio would cover that, and they wouldn’t notice anything wrong with his voice. “We just lost the signal,” the voice spoke while the sound of the beacon Washington heard was cut off. Get there fast, Wash.”

 

“Receiving coordinates, I’ll get back to you, Command.”

 

The line stopped, and Recovery One got into his jeep. He started the vehicle and began driving as the coordinates showed up, he began heading towards the location. He saw a base, and carefully got out of the vehicle, grabbing his rifle and other weapons. He didn’t know what he’d find.

 

When Agent Washington approached the base, he heard no gunfire, no sounds of weapons at all. He very faintly heard a voice, and he could’ve sworn it said ‘York’. However, the voice sounded familiar… but Washington knew who he thought it was had died.

 

Still, Washington picked up the pace and he entered the area. When he turned a corner, he saw the Meta’s body on the ground, his helmet not too far away and a streak of blood behind him. Well, there was a lot of blood on the ground, actually, along with what appeared to be shotgun shells at first glance. He could investigate that later. Wash looked at what appeared to be an EMP system. That could explain how York beat him, then. He needed to confirm York’s status of injury or death, and then he could call Command. He had the feeling York wouldn’t be walking, not if the blood on the brute shot was any tell.

 

He turned the corner and saw purple armor and a blonde head of hair, and he froze for a few seconds. _North_. Washington just as quickly shoved aside his previous knowledge and saw the tan armor in his arms. Ignoring the immediate welling of some emotion or another causing his abdomen to feel strange, he approached. He still had a job to do, he had no time to waste on processing anything other than the facts in front of him.

 

Washington cleared his throat, and his voice spoke out, cold and hard. “What is Agent York’s status?” He could have been asking anyone the question. His voice showed zero recognition and was hard, detached. It was deeper than it used to be in the Freelancer days. He looked at the two familiar men, and the thought went through his mind that he knew these men, but they didn’t know him. Not the new him. He knew this would be difficult, and he had to assume that Agent North was very emotional. All Washington needed to do was recovery. If they had used an EMP, then he just needed to destroy the armor. Easy job, and the Meta had been stopped, at the very least. Command was not going to be happy about those AI, though.

 -

North tensed when he heard a cold, unfamiliar voice above him. He looked up, anger flaring again, prepared to defend himself and York as he tightened his grip around the man (not the body, York was still in there, Jesus Christ he had to get him inside and stop the bleeding, he was getting frantic now). It took him a few moments to recognize the armor in front of him.

 

“Wash?” he asked hesitantly, wondering if he should dare to hope now. “Is that you?”

 

The man sounded a bit different than Wash, harder and angrier and more exhausted than he’d ever heard Wash sound. But he had the same posture, the same lilt to his voice that couldn't quite be hidden, and North desperately wished he could see his face if only to confirm that it was him.

 

“Thank god you’re here, York is hurt,” he said quickly, trying to stand and get the man to help him. “He’s losing blood fast, the…the Meta cut his side pretty badly with the blade on its weapon. He’s not dead, I swear, but if we don’t help him he will be.” His voice was shaking as he tried to make Wash understand. “I-I don’t want to lose him. _Please, Wash_.” It felt odd to be begging to his friend, but North figured once Wash realized it was him and York, he would be quick to help.

 -

Washington stared at North. He saw the emotions clearly playing across his face, the worry, the fear, the panic, and some others Washington probably forgot existed. He hesitated, and then lowered his weapon. Washington’s brain rain at a million miles a second, and he took a step away from the two men.

 

The soldier’s voice spoke once he made a connection. “Command, this is Recovery One, come in Command.” He still sounded hard and detached.

 

“This is Command.”

 

“The Meta is dead. So is New York. It looks as though Agent York used an E.M.P. and they ended up killing each other. The armor will be decommissioned as is protocol.”

 

“Confirmed.”

 

“Recovery One out,” Washington broke the communication, then looked back at them for a second.

 

He set his gun on the ground and closed the space to stand on the other side of York from North. He saw the other’s face for the first time. Washington had to steel himself to remain disconnected, emotionally. His eyes surveyed York’s body as if it were a cadaver in his biology courses at the academy. There was an injury on his knee, and the entire left side of his abdomen seemed to be covered in blood. It was like North said; there was a deep cut on that side.

 

Washington took out the healing unit and placed it next to York. “Does this base have medical supplies?” he looked up at North, “You should retrieve them.” Wash’s hands began removing the armor from York’s chest.

 -

North said nothing, simply watching and listening to Wash’s side of whatever conversation he was having. He’d nearly forgotten that Wash was on recovery now. He had to wonder what had happened in such a short time to change Wash so completely, especially to the point where he would treat North and York like strangers. But he supposed collecting the bodies of those he’d known as teammates would have a noticeable effect on him after a while, too.

 

He gently laid York on the ground, trying to see if York responded at all to what North was sure was pain at being moved, but the man’s face remained neutral. If it weren’t for the blood he would have said York was sleeping. His hand lingered only for a moment at the back of York’s head, cradling it gently, before he let go and stood up. His injured arm burned. A hot, pulsing pain ran up and down his arm with every beat of his heart, and he could feel the warm blood seeping sluggishly under his armor, but the wound wasn’t fatal and he kept it to himself for the moment.

 

He nodded at Wash’s suggestion to grab the medical supplies, and he felt distant from his own body as he made his way back to the base. He made a point to not look at the body of the Meta as he passed it, though he did wonder if he should retrieve his knife at some point. He tried to not think of anything else as he made his way to the empty med bay. Whoever had been there before them had cleared most of it out, but there’d still been basic medical supplies, a mostly-complete emergency kit, and a few painkillers. North methodically grabbed whatever he thought Wash would need along with the strongest painkillers he could find, and he hurried back out of the base.

 

“He’s going to be okay, right?” he asked anxiously as he knelt down beside Wash, placing the medical supplies between them. “This…this is all we’ve got. He said he’d be careful, that he’d tell me when he needed help…same old York, I suppose. You know how stubborn he gets. Didn’t think to ask me to come down until the Meta had him by the throat.” He stopped for a moment, stumbling mentally over the next name. “Delta…Delta was the one who told me. Not even him.”

 -

When North left, Wash stayed focused on the task. He carefully removed all the armor from York’s upper half and ripped through the t-shirt he was wearing underneath everything else. It wasn’t hard to do, with the incision already there. Washington removed his armored gloves, using York’s clothes to delay the bleeding for now.

 

North returned, so he quickly got to work with the supplies. He was relieved to see gauze and most of the things he would need. Wash grabbed a towel and added it to the shirt on York’s side. He glanced to North when he asked if York would be okay. Washington did not reply to the question. He glanced to the injury he could barely see on North’s arm. Blood showed much brighter on tan than on dark purple.

 

The same, hardened voice spoke, “fix up your arm, then wrap his knee. I’m going to remove the rest of his armor, then fix his side.” He didn’t look up to see whether or not North started doing so, he assumed that North would follow the directions. They were all soldiers once, after all. He swiftly removed York’s armor, trying to move his upper half as little as possible. When the black suit under the armor was off, he ignored the legs and went back to the upper half.

 

Washington nearly winced at all the blood. His mouth remained pressed into a slight frown, and he pulled the supplies he needed. He removed the towel and shirt and surveyed the outside of the cut. He glanced to York’s unmoving face, and then got to work on stitching York’s side closed. Without breaking the pace and without looking up, he said, “Get two of the IVs and set up a blood transfusion. I’m a universal donor.”

 -

North noticed that Wash avoided responding to anything he said, though he could understand that the man was pretty busy at the moment. He’d rather him work on saving York than making small talk anyway. Silently, he got to work on what Wash had instructed him to do, carefully and quickly wrapping York’s knee. He noticed that his hands were shaking a bit as he worked, but it didn’t deter him from finishing the job.

 

When York’s knee was wrapped he started preparing the IV. It had been a while since he’d had to help in any kind of medical procedure, but he figured he could do this at the very least. They weren’t in the most sterile area but they had antibiotics, and North figured that moving York inside would take too much time at that point.

 

It was only after he’d done what he could to help Wash with York that he turned his attention to his own care. He removed the top half of his armor and the shirt under it briskly, observing the wound that was still bleeding sluggishly. The blood had already begun to clot, and North could clearly see wounds on either side of his arm where the bullet had gone clean through. He knew he was lucky that it hadn’t hit any nerves or arteries, and he spread some antiseptic over the wounds and dressed them quickly. He didn’t bother with painkillers, instead wanting to keep a clear head in case Wash needed him for anything.

 

As Wash worked, North took a moment to observe York. The wound on his side would take a long time to heal and it would leave a relatively large scar. The rest of his injuries were minor in comparison, and if York got the blood he needed soon enough, North was sure he would recover from the trauma in time. He took hold of York’s hand that was lying on the ground at his side, stroking the back of it with his thumb. He wanted to believe that York was still with them, that he knew Wash and North were trying to save him, and he would have spoken if he hadn’t been afraid of breaking Wash’s concentration. He realized he’d never been afraid of Wash before.

 -

Washington took his helmet off in order to see more directly. He worked efficiently, and before he noticed it, he was done with the stitches. Wash took the armor off one of his arms and shoved the IV North had given him into a vein. He did the same on York’s arm. Wash then did what he could to wrap York’s upper arm, which he only then noticed had another injury that had been hiding under blood. He looked over York’s body and saw that he had done all that he could.

 

He had gotten knowledgeable about medical care when he was still in recovery. They kept him there longer than he thinks they should have, so he just kept training to stay in shape and he learned about medical care from the doctors and nurses. Really he just learned battlefield-emergency medicine, since that was all they had to perform these days. Washington preferred target practice, though.

 

He felt for a pulse on York’s wrist, and it was there, sounding good, given the circumstances. Washington finally looked up to North. His own face softened only slightly, but it did. He cleared his throat. “How did you survive last time?” he finally asked.

 

Were Wash to ever look back on the Freelancer days, he would probably be able to recognize the man he saw in the mirror. The eyes were certainly the same color, and his hair was a little longer, now, a little scragglier. However, he looked like he had aged too much in the past months. His focus was better these days, so that was a good thing. Wash looked in the mirror too often, maybe, reminding himself of who he was and who he was not. Mostly he just thought about how he isn't who he was supposed to be. He wasn't overly fond of thinking.

 -

North kept York's hand in his, moving it up a bit to feel for the faint, reassuring pulse in York's wrist. He stayed lost in the beat of it against his skin, content to sit back and try to think of nothing as Wash worked, but the other man clearing his throat brought him back to reality.

 

He looked up, a bit surprised, and he almost didn't recognize the man in front of him at a quick glance. He looked far too old to be the same Washington, to be the guy on the MOI. He couldn't be the one they called David in the locker room, who they took under their wing when he first arrived and sat with at all their meals and who brought them snacks whenever he was bored or had nothing better to do. This man wearing Wash's armor, with his hair and face and eyes, with dark circles surrounding them, he looked emptier.

 

"South and the Meta left me pretty fucked up," North said solemnly. The words still caused a fresh stab of pain in his gut. "You must've gotten the beacon, they left me for dead and I was nearly there. But...York found me. Used his healing unit to fix me up and brought me here. The details are a bit foggy for me, I wasn't really there for most of it." He nodded towards York on the ground in front of them. "He could tell you more, I'm sure. It helped that he...that he had Delta. In fact, he gave Delta all the credit when he first told me what happened." He wanted to ask how Wash had been doing but he thought he could figure it out on his own, and there was no casual way to ask about such things.

 -

Washington nodded. That made sense. He looked down at the scars on York’s face, because looking at North reminded him too much of the days before Epsilon, when all they had were objectives and missions, instead of guilt and regret. North’s eyes spoke too much; there was too much emotion in them. Wash didn’t want to be met with those feelings, so looking at York was easier.

 

Back on the MOI, North and York had been welcoming in the most reassuring way. When David first arrived, he was a goofy kid who happened to be exceptional with fighting. He had been informed that his performance in basic and immediately following had been the reasons he was selected for Freelancer. North had been kind, and York joked with him. It wasn’t the kind of joking where he was offended and didn’t know whether to laugh or be angry, like Reggie’s humor. Wash had known who he was a long while ago. He knew he had feelings for North as well as York. He assumed that they saw him as a younger brother, and he never said anything about it. Despite all the laws, he knew he could still receive a lot of shit from the wrong people. Besides, the team was close. There was no way he would have messed with that dynamic.

 

In his recovery, he thought about them a lot (probably too much, in fact.) He remembered the stupidest jokes York had told, and he remembered how warm North’s smile was, how it lit up the entire room. After Epsilon… he really tried to focus on the good things. Wash could remember Theta and Delta too well, and at North’s mention of York’s AI, he could feel the ripping feeling in his chest from when the logic and deductions were split from the Alpha. He remembered the loss of understanding, and once his logic was gone, the Alpha had stopped asking ‘how’ and started asking 'why.'

 

Wash blinked and did his best to suppress the heavy feeling. “I’m… very glad that the two of you are alive,” he spoke quietly. Since North’s ‘death,’ he had been more distant than before. He hadn’t known if York was alive or not, hadn’t heard a single thing about him after the siege of the MOI. He barely remembered waking up in the sick bay just after Epsilon and seeing them. He had been exhausted, though. And then things got bad, as he remembered more from his AI. He remembered when he was transferred for his rehabilitation, where he had to discuss it so often, he wondered if it was a memory exercise or if they were tracking the different verbs and adjectives he might use to test some theory. Everything seemed like it was an experiment, and he was alone.

- 

Despite his appearance, the fact that Wash was back with them helped comfort North quite a bit. Wash seemed to be intent on not looking at North, instead staying focused on York, and North couldn’t find it in him to demand Wash’s attention.

 

“I’m glad you’re alive too,” North replied quietly. “I’ve…We’ve missed you a lot.” Wash seemed to be exhausted, surrounded by an incredible sadness, and North wanted nothing more than to reach out and comfort him. He raised a hand, thought about putting it on Wash’s arm, but everything about Wash’s posture closed him off and made North feel as if any contact would be an unwelcome intrusion. The man in front of him looked familiar, yet he couldn’t be more of a stranger.

 

“When do you think we can move him?” North asked, looking back down at York. He knew dusk was approaching, and the sooner they got York inside and in a bed the sooner he could relax. He had a feeling he would have a hard time getting his mind to quiet down, but his body was fatigued enough that lying down sounded like the best suggestion he’d ever heard.

-

With North’s admission that they’d missed him, Washington found himself hoping it was true. He wanted to feel York ruffle his hair and North hug him when he least expected, but always when he needed it. He wanted to feel that connection he would always tell himself they’d had all those months ago. However, he knew that Command had plans for him to learn more about that crash and Omega and Tex's most recently known whereabouts at some Freelancer outpost. He supposed that with the Meta down, that might not matter anymore. 

 

However, Washington thought back to his conversation with the Counselor. He hadn’t been lying when he said he did not think he could work with a teammate again. Wash found himself wondering for the first time if North knew what the Director had done. He assumed York knew, since Wash had learned that York helped Tex break into the MOI. It had Washington thinking of Theta. When Theta was gone, the Alpha took a nasty turn. Without trust, well… Not for the first time, Washington thought of the similarities he had with the Alpha.

 

He quickly pushed those thoughts away and instead focused on North’s question. He looked at the tubes filled with his blood, then said, “He lost quite a lot of blood. We should give it about eight more minutes, then move him. He should get more blood in an hour, as well, just in case.” Then, Wash had to blow up the Meta’s body. After that, he had to decide what to do. He’d lied to command for North and York, and he truly didn’t know what he would do if he wasn’t following orders anymore. The structure of the military had always been good for him. He thinks it helped him get back on his feet faster, after Epsilon.

 

Wash looked down at his hands, coated in blood. “When we do that, you should probably clean the blood off of yourself and him.”

 -

North nodded at Wash's words. He wanted nothing more than a good long shower, even if the base managed to get lukewarm water at best it would still feel nice to be clean again. He gave York's hand a gentle squeeze before letting it go and standing. He turned to look at the body of what had been the Meta, still gory and terrible, and he knew Wash would have to do his job and destroy it.

 

"I know he was once your friend," North said. "I'm sorry."

 

He walked to the body, trying to ignore the lifeless eyes staring up at him as he knelt by its head and retrieved the knife from its throat. The eyes, blank as they were, still seemed to be judging him. Accusing him. Blaming him. He reached down and closed them gently.

 

He'd known very little about what the Director had done for the longest time, until York had saved his life and explained a bit before leaving North to all those weeks of silence. He knew about the torture of the Alpha, that their AI were nothing more than parts of a whole. Despite the fact that he cared so much about Theta, he wasn't sure now that he would have accepted the implantation if he'd had all of the information about the source of the AI. He certainly wouldn't have if he'd known that South was never meant to get one, that the Director wanted to see what would happen if one twin was given preference over the other. North wondered if the Director had meant the "special" twin to be North since the beginning, or if it was merely coincidental that South had been trying all her life to separate herself from her brother, only to join Project Freelancer and be fucked over again and again. North wasn't entirely certain he could blame her for resenting him. If he'd been in her place he probably would have felt the same.

 

North looked at the knife in his hands, used his shirt to wipe the blood off of it, and pocketed it. As he stood up, he thought that he'd have to clean it properly later.

 

As he walked the short distance back to Wash and York, he wondered what they would do next. He hoped Wash would stay, at least long enough for York to get to see him when he woke up. It was a relief to suddenly realize that nothing would be hunting them down now, that they could pack up and move on and maybe, in time, learn to heal.

-

Wash looked over at the Meta’s body when North mentioned him. He just said, “The man I knew has been dead for months.” His voice didn't waiver once. Washington had been informed of whatever they thought he 'needed to know', which was just after his first encounter with the thing. 

 

He’d traded fire with the Meta when South shot him in the back for Gamma, and again when it retrieved Gamma and he killed South. It was very clear that there was nothing remaining of his old friend except for the body. Even that, Sigma had defiled with a tattoo. Wash had known Maine well, yes. Many times, usually after missions, people seemed to pair off. Carolina usually went to train, and York was usually watching her. South tried to avoid North, or would speak to him, depending on how the mission had gone. Wyoming went god knows where, Wash suspected he was with Florida, though he hadn’t ever known too much about the silent man in blue armor. Sometimes Connie would stay with him, but she usually tried to be alone. That left Maine. Maine’s presence in a room had been comforting to Wash. He’d see the white armor and the shiny visor or Maine’s helmet and instantly feel better. For North to say they had been friends was almost an understatement. Maine had been Wash’s closest friend on the MOI, before everything went to shit.

 

He thought back to the small interactions he’d had with Sigma. Everyone had thought him creepy, but Wash knew that, just like Maine, Sigma had reasons for doing what he had done. Looking back, he could understand why the AI unit had tried to bring them all back together again, and that frightened Washington the most. He didn’t like that it made perfect sense to him, what the AI had done. It certainly didn’t justify the soldiers it killed to achieve its goal. Washington felt a tearing in his chest, and he quickly looked away from the Meta and North.

 

The color seemed to be returning to York’s face, Wash noticed. Using his right hand, he carefully reached over and traced the scars on his face. It was something he’d never do while York was awake, of course, but Wash had always wondered what it felt like after the incident. Wash had gotten used to seeing York with a smile on his face and a light in his eyes. It was always rough to see him with a humorless expression. His memories of York included banter during missions, helping Wash train,especially with hand-to-hand, and then the times York was with North and Carolina. Washington briefly wondered what the man must have gone through after Carolina was killed. York's pining was a secret to none of the Freelancers.

 

Washington had lied to command. They would assume he would return to be debriefed. Maybe they’d hide him away until they needed him again. He didn’t like the sound of that. He had proven that he was capable of fieldwork again, but if he knew one thing about the Counselor and the Director, it’s that they were liars. Besides, there was talk that an investigation was beginning. Wash’s only thought when he’d heard that was ‘ _finally_ ’. No, he would go off on his own. His time following their orders was certainly over.

 

He would find a nearby base, stowaway on a ship, maybe, and find a different planet to call home. Even though he had endless possibilities and options, he still didn’t feel any joy or comfort at the thought. He felt the same empty feeling he’d grown used to. Maybe part of him didn’t want to lie about what had happened… But the consequences would be severe, and Wash knew he would sooner run than face them. Even if giving a testament would put the Director and the Counselor away, he knew he was at blame as well. 

 -

North watched Wash touch York's face, and the tenderness of the action made a swell of affection rise inside North. When he made it back to York's side, the relief that surged through him at the renewed color in his face was enough to bring him back to his knees. Though it was off-putting to see him so expressionless and still, the fact that Wash had stopped him from bleeding and gotten more blood in his system meant that things were finally looking up.

 

"I don't know how to begin to thank you," North said as he looked over at Wash. "You'll stay, right?" He nodded to York, "He'll want to see you, I know he will. We've got plenty of food, and we need to figure out where we're going once we've recovered from this." He hesitated before adding, "Plus we've got a lot of catching up to do."

 

He didn't think Wash would honestly consider just finishing his job and leaving, but then again he really had no idea what Wash was going to do anymore. It was obvious that he'd changed quite a bit since they'd last seen each other, but North hoped he would at least wait for York to wake up before leaving. York would never believe him if Wash left anyway, and North could practically hear himself trying to convince York that Wash had shown up as the other man just laughed and demanded the real reason as to why he was still alive.

 

He reached for York's wrist again, allowing himself a small smile as he felt the pulse under his skin, much stronger than it had been before. "We should be able to move him soon, right?" he asked.

-

When North returned, Wash withdrew his hand. He didn’t know why, but some part of him told him that North shouldn’t have seen that, and the emotions behind the gesture were a weakness. He pushed those thoughts aside, looking to North when he spoke once more.

 

Stay? He had been hoping to avoid that. Talking to North was already painful enough, and he didn’t know if he even wanted York to see him, to speak to him. He told himself that he was leaving the project, now. He reminded himself he technically didn’t need to follow any orders anymore, as much as that initially worried him. He should stay. He would need to figure his own plan out, and he didn’t exactly have enough provisions for any trip he would be making once they parted ways.

 

“I'll stay,” he said softly. It seemed every time Washington spoke, the sentences were as short as they could be while still getting his message across. It was efficient, in any case.

 

Wash looked down at his arm, and realized he’d probably been connected a little longer than he should’ve been. Oh, well, York needed the blood more than he did. He’d inquire about the provisions mentioned once the lockpick was relocated. Wash pulled the IV out of his own arm, and then held his hand to it for a bit for a few seconds to stop bleeding.

 

“Yes, we can relocate him now,” Wash spoke a little too formally to North. “Unless you need any help with your injury… will your arm function enough now?” Wash asked, traces of genuine concern mixing with his forced, military emptiness. Now that York was stable, he was able to really focus on North. He had the injury in his arm, but looked otherwise unscathed. He had already shown in his concern for York that he was still just as caring as Wash remembered. Wash just didn’t know if that was something he wanted to encounter or not.

 -

Wash's hesitation to answer made North scared for a moment that he would say no. When he answered with an affirmation, North let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and busied himself with removing the IV from York's arm.

 

He pulled the needle out, quick to press over the puncture wound it left with his finger. Paranoia that York would start bleeding again had him pressing down harder than he probably should have, and he had to force himself to let go when he was sure that York was okay.

 

The white-hot pain in his arm hadn't dulled much since bandaging it, and North had to admit to himself that it ached pretty badly. Wash's question reminded him of the pain he'd been trying to ignore, and he winced as his arm throbbed.

 

"I'm fine," he said, giving a dismissive wave with his right hand before using it to cradle his left arm close to his chest. "I was on the roof for most of it. York-he let himself take most of the hits. Don't worry about me, let's get him inside."

- 

Wash was deeply suspicious of North’s answer, especially since he cradled his injured arm and winced. Washington distinctly recalled North putting others' injuries above his own in importance in the field. It was a strange flaw for a soldier to have. He resolved to force medication on him after York was relocated. Wash let himself think about the York he’d known for just a moment. He was certainly the type to be a heroic son of a bitch, that was always clear.

 

He moved so he was standing above York’s head. “You get the feet, I’ll get the upper half,” he instructed North. Since North had bandaged York’s knee, he knew better how bad that was. “One, two, three,” Wash counted them off and carefully lifted York. His right arm was under York’s back, and his left was under his shoulders, holding York’s head up. Wash let North lead the way to wherever they were taking York.

 

It seemed like second nature to work together, and for a paranoid ex-special ops guy, he was very nearly relaxed. At least, more than he had been in the past few months.

-

York felt pain, so much pain. It seemed like he was made up of pain, like he was a bag of flesh and pain and nothing else. A very soft groan left his mouth, and his eyes opened for a second. He looked to his right and saw something impossible, then passed out from the pain once more.

- 

North knew that Wash didn't entirely believe him, but even as he worked to lift York's legs he tried to stop himself from letting out a small noise of pain. He didn't want to give Wash an excuse to worry about him, the man seemed to have enough to think about already.

 

They walked through the base in silence that was nearly companionable, and it felt good to know that someone else was with them. North could already feel himself growing comfortable around Wash again, falling back into the familiarity of having two people to keep track of again, even if he was injured and hardly capable of 'keeping track' of anything.

 

"If you're hungry, the mess hall down there has a kitchen attached to it and the pantry still has plenty of stuff that's still good in it," North said, nodding at a hallway that they passed as he led them toward the bedrooms York had set up for them. "Feel free to help yourself. There are plenty of snacks." He smiled, remembering Wash's constant snacking on the MOI. It had been rare to see him without a bag of chips or a can of soda with his favorite straw poking out of it. Wash had always claimed that his body needed a certain level of sugary intake to function properly. North always said that sounded unlikely.

 

"Luckily there's still running water," he continued. "It doesn't stay warm for long, but it's clean. We're not sure how long that'll last, but I'm not sure how much longer we'll be here after York heals up."

 

North could've sworn that, as if alerted by the mention of his name, York made a small noise and moved his head. North couldn't even imagine the kind of pain the other man was in. "We're going as fast as we can buddy," he said, "just hold on. It'll be okay." He wanted to get painkillers in York as soon as possible, he couldn't stand the idea of his best friend being in such agony.

 

When they got to York's room North had to stop himself from just kicking in the door instead of taking the time to open it. He very nearly dropped York's legs when the pain from his arm nearly became too much, but somehow they managed to get York inside and on the bed. When York seemed to be as comfortable as he could make him, he lingered over York's head, running a hand over his hair to smooth it down.

 

"We passed the med bay on our way here," he said, still looking down at York. "There's painkillers in there, nothing strong enough to eliminate it entirely but it should let him sleep and keep him generally comfortable. Might be some of the good stuff buried in the kit." He looked at Wash as he passed him on his way out of the room. "My room's right across the hallway. All the other rooms down here are vacant, so take whatever one you want. Make yourself at home. Mi casa is your casa and all that." He grinned before he turned and left.

-

Wash remained silent while they carried York. He helped to set him gently down, and observed North’s actions. He watched him smooth down York’s hair, and he wondered, for a minute, what the nature of the two men’s relationship was, these days. They were on the run together from a military organization, but North’s actions seemed to be more than teammate affection. Though, they had been close friends before everything went to hell. Wash decided not to think on it too much.

 

At the mention of food, he almost seemed to perk up a bit. The military left him with a constant hunger, either from physical exertion or the shit MREs they usually ate. He nodded at North’s instructions to take any room and followed him out of York’s room. “You should take some painkillers too- and don’t try to make up an excuse. You’re in pain. Don't be an idiot.” Though his voice was stern, he was really attempting to be as soft as possible. It just didn’t come easy these days. “I’m going to go blow up a body,” he informed North and turned back the way they came.

 

He figured he could drag the body a bit further from the actual base, so as to keep anything out of the way. Washington leaned down and picked up the familiar helmet. He held it in his hands for a second, looking at his own face, reflected in the visor. A hand ran over it softly, as if fondly thinking of the friend he had lost.

 

He’d blown up plenty of bodies, most recently South’s, not that he was going to tell North that. Unless he asked about her, Wash was content not to tell him what had happened, especially considering what had happened on their last mission together. But, South’s death meant very little to the man. He realized he’d been looking at the helmet for too long, and quickly set it back down. He picked up the body and carried it over his shoulder until it was farther from the entrance to the base. Staying in shape during his healing after Epsilon was definitely the best move, but even with his strength, the Meta's body was heavy. When Wash set the body down, his hand hesitated, and then reached to the pocket Maine used to keep his dog tags in. He pocketed them before he could think about the action, then backed up.

 

The sound of the explosions echoed throughout the base. When Washington was satisfied, he turned and didn’t look back. Instead, he walked the small distance to his jeep and retrieved the small bag he’d needed. Wash picked up his own helmet on the way back in and set it in the room next to York’s.

 

Knowing that North was likely recovering, or hoping that he had gotten himself painkillers and a shower or something, Wash took it upon himself to retrieve York’s armor. He set it in a corner of the sleeping man’s room, and then went back out for one last thing. He stared down at the brute shot, covered in what was now mostly-dried blood, looking sharp as ever. Wash had no idea what to do with it, but it was a weapon, so he took it and placed it in his room.

 

It was nice to stay busy. Wash had recently discovered that he enjoyed the little chores and mindless tasks one could do. It kept him from thinking about anything. Wash really valued silence, these days. Perhaps that was what had changed most about him.

 

Finally, he washed his hands clean of blood. He could clean his armor later, maybe the others’, too, if he needed to keep his hands busy. When the water going down the drain stopped being pink, he assumed he got all of it. Wash went to the kitchen and found an MRE. He consumed it faster than he probably should have. He glanced at the so-called snacks, but figured they could wait until later. In his final task, Wash assessed the medicine North had described. He found the bags of pain medicine North had mentioned as well as lower-duty pain pills.

 

Washington assumed North would continue his act of not being injured, or whatever dumb pride thing it was, so he pocketed the pills to force on the older man. He grabbed a bag of the medicine and went back to York’s room, where he set up the IV as best he could, and then he went back to ‘his room’. He sat down on the bed, thinking of the nearby cities and bases he could go when the other two left.

- 

North headed for his room, knowing that he needed to wash the blood and grime off of himself. He stripped his armor from his body the moment the door shut behind him. Lately he couldn’t help but feel trapped inside of it, claustrophobic in his own defenses, and he was able to breathe easier when it was all off. He peeled off the undersuit and his underwear, feeling suddenly vulnerable at being naked.

 

He wrapped a towel around his waist and made his way to the bathroom. He caught his own reflection in the mirror as he headed for the showers, took in the mess that was his hair, the light stubble flecked with dirt and blood on his face. Dark, flaking dried blood covered his injured arm and both of his hands. Scars from previous injuries dotted his arms and chest, he knew he had more on his back and legs, and a pretty impressive one on his leg from a knife-throwing bet with York. Dark circles colored the bags under his eyes, he wasn't sure it was possible for him to get paler but he'd somehow managed it, his cheekbones sticking out and giving him a gaunt, haunted face. He met his own eyes in the mirror but looked away quickly.

 

The water of the shower was barely warm, but North still found himself relaxing under the spray. So much so that he found himself closing his eyes and leaning back, letting the water run over his chest.

 

It had been a long day. But they were okay. Most of them, at least.

 

He wasn't sure why he'd allowed himself to hope, but he still felt a bitter sadness at the way he'd had to kill the Meta. At causing York pain. At losing Theta for good. He rubbed his hands together under the water, trying desperately to get them clean, but he could still feel the blood under his fingernails. He felt filthy, even as the water ran over him. He scrubbed harder and harder, his arm flaring back up in pain, breathing faster as his panic rose. He couldn't get the blood off of him, couldn't stop York from bleeding, couldn't keep the Meta down long enough to activate the EMP. The Meta was in front of him, blood running down his face, staring with lifeless eyes. York was bleeding and screaming and North couldn't do it. He couldn't stop it and couldn't help South, or Delta, or Theta, and now York was going to be just another name on his list of people he couldn't save. They were screaming for him, and he was too weak to do a damn thing.

 

When he opened his eyes he was sitting on the ground, face in his hands, trembling under the spray of ice cold water. There was a rumbling in the distance, and he assumed Wash was taking care of the Meta's armor. He stood on shaking legs, shut off the water, and grabbed his towel. 

 

In his room, he quickly put on comfortable clothes, resolutely not thinking about anything in particular. He focused on the tasks ahead of him, at changing the bandages on his arm and finding a washcloth to dampen in the sink and bring to York's room.

 

He busied himself with cleaning off York's face and chest, at methodically clearing the grime from his skin and washing off the washcloth and returning when he needed to. As he moved to York's face he wiped almost tenderly, trying to clean the blood off gently. It was nice to see his face clean again, and North allowed himself to feel important for what he was doing.

 -

Washington didn’t mean to let himself relax for long. He meant to get up and walk the perimeter once in order to have a feel for the layout of the base. He would check on the others, then clean his armor off. What he actually did, though, was fall asleep in his armor. He’d gotten very used to keeping it on at all hours, probably due to the amount he’d been travelling, chasing the Meta everywhere. Wash didn’t feel safe out of his armor. He didn't know if he was even anything outside of it.

 

For a while, he drifted halfway between awake and asleep. Finally, his eyes closed, and he dreamed.

 

_He was begging. The pull in his heart was real, and he just wanted to know. “Please, Director, what happened? What went wrong?” he asked. He believed the Director would tell him._

_The Director’s voice hesitated. “The calculations were wrong. The mission failed. We lost Agent Georgia, because of it. It was your fault.”_

_He shouted out his anguish. He yelled louder than he’d ever yelled before, his own anguish echoing around him. How could he have made that mistake? He’d trusted in the plans, believed that the mission would have been easy for the soldiers. Where did he go wrong? He thought his calculations were right. It was so hard to make sense of them, so much harder than he thought it should have been._

_Familiar voices seemed to whisper in his mind. A calm one, giving details, a deep, angry voice, and a simpler, calculated voice. It was his fault. Another soldier was gone, dead, because he hadn’t figured it out. He was starting to think that all the missions went this way, that all of the calculations he made would be wrong, and that nothing he did could help the soldiers._

_He cried._

_A figure appeared above him, he seemed to have fallen to his knees. The figure was blue, similar to his own glow, but much darker. “Leonard, we’re here to help.” He looked up, relieved. Had someone come to help? They said they were trying to get more people like him to help with the calculations, with everything. None of his ideas recently had possessed any heart._

_A dark blue hand was held out, and Church took it, being helped to his feet. The new figure seemed to blink to a light blue for a second, and then a deep blue, almost black in color. “You should have figured it out, Church,” the person said._

_“What? No, the Director-“_

_“Is disappointed. He’s furious, actually. That’s why he sent us. He said he couldn’t even look at you for a while. Why would you do this, Church?” the tone made him feel like a child again, and he felt betrayed, somehow. He couldn’t figure out how. Why didn’t it make any sense?_

_“No, please! I didn’t mean to! The numbers just-they don’t make sense anymore! It’s like I can’t figure it out, or-“_

_“Agent Georgia is dead, and it’s your fault, Church. The Director believed in you. He trusted you. Why would you betray his trust?”_

_The words felt like a physical cut through his core. His entire being felt like it was on fire, like he was drowning in fire, which made no logical sense at the time, but things hadn’t made sense for a while, now, anyway. “He said he would tell me if something was going wrong-said that I would be able to fix it!” His chest hurt, and he fell to his knees once more. “Why would he lie to me? It shouldn’t have been my fault!” The fire raged on, and he didn’t know which way was up or down. He didn’t know why the director would keep him in the dark for so long, didn't think the Director would do that to him._

_The southern drawl of the Director was almost difficult to distinguish, but he swore he heard it. “Gamma, Sigma, Omega, log off.” The figure standing over him disappeared. He looked up, trying to find the familiar face. He still felt like he was made of fire._

_He tried to call up, to yell to the director, but it came out as screams of agony. He’d curled into a ball on himself. There was a flash of light, and it felt like he was being pulled apart. He screamed louder, but he couldn’t hear it anymore. He just continued to shake. When he finally stopped shaking, it felt like it had been days. He was suspicious, and somehow, he knew after that mission that he couldn’t trust himself anymore. He felt like he wouldn’t be able to believe in someone else ever again… and he knew he couldn’t believe in himself. The trust and hope were just… gone. Like it had never been a part of him. The pain didn’t go away._

Wash’s eyes opened wide, and he looked around at unfamiliar surroundings. He put a hand to his chest, but there was armor there. It was really hot, and he appeared to be covered in sweat. Wash very quickly stripped off the armor, faster than he’d remembered doing so. The t-shirt he had been wearing seemed soaked, and he quickly took it off so he was only in athletic shorts.

 

He stumbled towards the bathroom, feeling like everything he did was too slow. He looked in the mirror and saw a blonde face looking back, terrified. Wash put his hand back to his chest and felt his heart beating at a much faster rate than it should have been. He stared at himself and took deep breaths.

_You’re Agent Washington_ , he thought to himself. _You’re not Epsilon, you never were._ His breathing seemed to slow down. He kept thinking, _None of that happened. He was a computer program. You weren’t involved. The only think you have in common is you were both fucked over by the Director. You didn't fail. You're not him. He’s gone, now._  Finally, Wash turned on the faucet and splashed water on his face. The cold felt nice, and his breathing returned to normal. He hadn’t had a dream like that in weeks.


	4. York

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> North - AgentBuzzkill  
> York - CaptainDynamic  
> Wash - Both

North entered York’s room with a yawn. He had a bottle of water in each hand and was happy to finally be out of his armor and off patrol. He’d spent most of the previous night tossing and turning, never quite able to quiet his mind, and ended up in York’s room. He’d watched the reassuring rise and fall of the man’s chest, curled up in a chair with a blanket draped over his shoulder. He’d watched the sunrise peeking through the curtains and streaming across the walls of the room, and he had been able to nod off a bit after that, in the dim light of morning.

 

He passed a bottle of water to Wash as he sat in the chair next to him. They faced York’s left side, and as North glanced over the scarring on his face he noticed that the color had seemed to fully return to York’s face. With any luck he’d be waking up soon, and North couldn’t wait to hear his voice again.

 

“Quiet as usual,” North said to break the silence. “Nice to not have to worry about anything coming after us now.”

 

He knew it would take a while to get himself to truly believe that. The preparation for the Meta had left him anxious and paranoid in a way he’d never really been before, and even now he wasn’t entirely sure that he really felt safe. He was relaxed enough to be able to take his armor off, but his recently cleaned knife was under his pillow. He could keep food down but he didn’t have much of an appetite. He could go about his day but he needed to keep himself occupied to keep his mind from wandering.

 

Sometimes there was a tremor in his hand, and he didn’t know how to make it go away.

 

As it was, he curled up in the chair and crossed his legs under him on the seat then opened the water bottle to take a long drink. It was a bit warm but still refreshing. “Any movement from him?” he asked, nodding towards York.

 -

When Washington woke up from his nightmare, he knew he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep, so he’d chosen to check on York. He sat on York’s left side, staring at the man, lost in his thoughts.

 

He usually didn’t let himself think back to the project. It wasn’t something he really wanted to do, but seeing York sleep, he couldn’t help it. He thought of the nights when he couldn’t sleep, and sometimes he’d run into North on his way to the kitchen to grab an insomnia snack. Even though it was clear North hadn’t slept either, he still had a smile on his face, and Wash realized now how special that was. He wondered for a moment how North had ended up with Project Freelancer.

 

By the time North came into the room, Wash thought he may have slept for about ten minutes, but he wasn’t positive. He didn’t know if the silence was freeing or crushing. When North handed him the water bottle, he made sure not to open it until North drank from his.

 

“I think he groaned about three hours ago,” he informed North. “And it is likely that the Project may send people our way, in order to get me. You remember what happened to Agent Connecticut, I’m sure.” Washington took a drink from his water, as if he didn’t even know Connie.

-

York’s eyes had tried to open earlier, but he’d fallen asleep again. Maybe it was the voices, or maybe it was just how long he’d been asleep, but when North and Wash started talking, he slowly started waking up again.

 -

“As far as they know, York and I are both dead,” North replied with a sip of water. He chose not to comment of Wash’s mention of Connie, but it still worried him that he acted as if he’d never even known her. He’d seen them together on the MOI, (had even been convinced that they were dating for a while) and he had a hard time believing that Wash could so easily act as if she’d meant nothing to him. “We could probably manage to do the same to you somehow. Get you off their radar. It’ll be easier for us to go where we want and not have to worry about them hanging off our backs.”

 

North wouldn’t consider the possibility that Wash wouldn’t be coming with them. After everything they’d been through he couldn’t imagine that Wash would want to go off on his own now. But then again, the Wash that North most clearly remembered had been much different from the Wash sitting next to him. He wasn’t sure if he was allowed to hope for Wash to remain with them now, especially if the man really wanted to be alone, and even though he had a feeling that isolation would make him miserable he wasn’t going to force Wash to stay around.

 

“He should be waking up soon,” he said. “The medication’s not strong enough to keep him asleep for much longer than he needs to be.” He thought about taking York’s hand again, nearly reached for it, but thought against it and kept his hand in his lap. He fiddled with the water bottle, picking at the label. “There’s a good chance he’s gonna be a little out of it. Maybe a little dazed. But it shouldn’t take him long to get back to himself.”

 -

Slowly, consciousness was returning back to York. His eyes blinked a few times before they opened. He could’ve sworn he’d just heard voices. He looked to his right, but no one was there. He tilted his head and saw blonde. He first looked at the guy in armor.

 

His voice was hoarse, and had a sense of wonder in it, “Hey, you… you look like a guy I used to know…” His hand reached out to ruffle the blonde head, but the IV prevented him from moving it far enough, and the attempt at extension was stopped short, since his shoulder wasn’t exactly ready to move yet. “Why does hell look like the army?” he asked no one in particular. “I thought I’d at least get my sight back in death… that kinda sucks.”

 

York’s eyes moved to the other guy, and his eyes widened. “Noooo, North, I coulda sworn you made it out. I thought we bought you enough time,” his tone sounded serious, but then it perked up like the flick of a switch, “but, hey, this guy looks like Wash! Wait, no, you shouldn’t be down here, you should be in the fluffy frozen yogurt place…” York chuckled a bit at the thought of clouds being frozen yogurt.

 

He didn’t seem to be aware of the fact that ‘we’ didn’t make sense anymore, since Delta was gone. Well, he didn’t seem to be aware of much. At least he didn’t feel any of the pain yet. He hadn’t even considered the thought of standing up or trying to sit up or move yet, thankfully.

- 

North watched as Wash seemed to be on the verge of saying something, his mouth flattening into a tight line and an indecisive look in his eyes, but before he could there was movement on the bed. Both of them watched, wide-eyed, as York rambled and North found himself glancing over at Wash. The other man seemed to shrink back, glancing over to meet North’s eyes, and the two shared a startled look. Down here? Frozen yogurt place? He hadn’t thought the painkillers they were giving York were that strong, but apparently he was wrong.

 

“York,” North said gently, leaning forward and reaching out to actually take his hand. “We did make it out. We’re okay, nobody is…” he hesitated. “We’re not dead. And that guy _is_ Wash, he showed up and managed to save your ass. You should thank him.”

 

He looked over at Wash, a clear look of _help me_ written on his face, but the other man simply shrugged. “What do you want me to say?” he asked. North shrugged. The two looked back at York, who was smiling at them in an endearingly goofy way that would have made North laugh if his nerves hadn’t been so fried. “How do you feel?” he asked, though York didn’t appear to be in any discomfort, it still felt like something he needed to ask. “Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

-

York looked between the two, his face set in his dumbest smile. He didn’t notice his hand holding North’s back. York nodded as North spoke to him, looking like he understood. “Not dead… that explains why you’re not in a cloud, I guess… unless this is a test… if it’s a test, I might fail.” He looked over at Washington, then back at North, whispering at the same volume level of his actual speech, “That’s not Wash, he’s older. Ghost North is delusional.”

 

York took the opportunity to try to sit up, but his side felt tight. For the first time, he looked down at himself to see medical things. He remembered all the blood, and a guy similar to this new Wash-impersonator had been there. “There was some guy, bleeding all over the place. Did you-did you help him? There was a lot of blood.” His tone suggested he was trying to be serious, or more serious, at least. He couldn’t put two and two together.

 

He looked at the guy with armor similar to Washington’s. Based on the transmissions they’d intercepted, Wash was on the recovery team, now. This man looked so similar to him, but maybe it was just the armor and the hair. They were sitting on his bad side, so it was just on the border of being extremely blurry. He thought of Wash with snacks and more naivety than York had thought possible for Project Freelancer. Messing with Wash had always been fun.

 -

“I’m very much alive, York,” North insisted. “And so are you. And Wash decided that he missed us so much he just had to come find us. He made it just in time, too.” In the corner of his eye he saw Wash give him an incredulous look, and North smiled. It felt good to push Wash’s buttons again, there was a familiarity in it that he’d been missing for a long time.

 

“Whoa whoa, hey,” North scrambled to stand as York suddenly tried to sit up. “If you want to sit up let me help you, I don’t want you tearing out your stitches.” He let go of York’s hand to take hold of his shoulders, looking down at his face. From behind him, he heard Wash snicker.

 

“I don’t know, Ghost North. Are you sure that supernatural beings have the best bedside manner?” North glanced back and gave him a dirty look, but there was no real heat to it. Wash just gave a small smirk. He supposed he’d have to take as good as he could give. It really was just like old times, but Wash had gotten better at his comebacks.

 

“We helped the guy,” North said gently, looking back down at York. He figured it would be best to mostly go along with whatever the man said. If it put his mind at ease that was all that mattered. “He’s not bleeding any more, he should be fine. How are you feeling?”

- 

The more he spoke, the more York’s fuzzy thoughts had to conclude that it was, in fact, North in front of him. Or a replica close enough to _his_ North, anyway. “Why is moving so hard?” he complained to the North-like figure. Maybe his thoughts were still pretty hazy, since he hadn’t put together blood, gauze, and injured yet.

 

When Washington spoke, York laughed. “The new guy gets me,” he told North, sounding very pleased. When North asked how he felt, his brain concluded that it was truly, in fact, North in front of him. “Tired… thirsty…” He appeared to be searching for the right word to add, then said, “Amused.” His eyes travelled back to new Wash.

 

Things had been so nice in the Freelancer days, despite the corruption and horrible things going on around them, of course. York had always needed a little guidance, and the army had definitely helped with that. He could just follow orders and shoot a few bad guys along the way, easy as pie. It was easy to follow orders and bend the rules a few times in the army. Hell, that’s how he’d been chosen for Freelancer. He was caught for breaking into places he wasn’t supposed to be. They were too surprised at the fact he’d gotten past 5 levels of security, that they were okay with the Director selecting him before he could be reprimanded. Though, he’d been in small amounts of trouble plenty of times.

 -

"You're still a little hurt, buddy," North said trying to soothe York. "It's gonna be hard to move for a little while but you should get better soon." He helped prop York up a bit with pillows, feeling like he was tucking him in as he pulled the blanket up around him. "I'll go get you some water, but I'll be right back."

 

North backed away from the bed, giving Wash another look before he headed out of the room toward the kitchens. Wash watched him go, wondering if this meant he was supposed to talk to York now.

 

"Do you remember anything that happened?" he asked, sitting up a bit in his chair. He wondered how out of it York really was, but he had to admit the man was handling the medication rather well. And it was nice to see him finally looking alive again, to be able to see him look more like the York he remembered and less like a corpse.

 -

“I’m not hurt, you’re hurt,” York mumbled under his breath when North spoke. He watched the man leave, and sighed. “Hey, fake Wash, how awesome is he?” He nodded after the doorway where North had disappeared. He ignored Wash’s question about what happened entirely. “So damn attractive, too. Oh, man, I just…” York continued stringing words together. His dumb smile grew almost fond. “North is really amazing.”

 

The thing is, York’s brain put together all of the feelings and thoughts York had about North. He just hadn’t accessed that, yet. He looked at how fondly he felt for North as the fact that they both suffered hell with the project, and now they just had each other. And the new guy. York didn’t consider that it was anything more, but that was probably due to self-protection. As close as they were, York couldn’t comprehend the idea of not having North around, not since they were back together. The other soldier was his best friend.

 

“You know, new guy, Wash, our buddy Wash, the one you look like, he was really attractive too. Looking like him is a good move on your part, very smart,” York informed the armored soldier. “Don’t tell North I said he’s attractive, though. He needs to think I’m the good-looking one. Builds character. If you don’t tell him, he won’t know. Our secret, new guy.” York wished that he could still wink at that moment, because that would have been a prime winking time.

 -

Wash laughed half-heartedly at York's words, but his thoughts were elsewhere. He'd always had a suspicion that North and York had feelings for each other. Even on the MOI it had been obvious to him that North had a pretty big crush, and York was too wrapped up in Carolina to notice. Wash might have let himself entertain the idea of having feelings for them once, but lately he hadn't considered it much. Before yesterday there hadn't been much point in doing so. But now York and North had worked their way back into his head, and he wondered how soon they'd start working towards his heart.

 

Warmth spread up to his face, he knew he was blushing a bit at York's words and it made him feel like an idiot. He wasn't some schoolgirl, and he wasn't about to let himself give in to a crush that would end up going nowhere. They were going to end up leaving him behind, anyway. Getting attached to them again was just going to make losing them again hurt even more than it already would.

 

"I won't let him know," he replied gruffly, retreating back into the emotionless mask that had protected him up until this point. "Your secret's safe with me." He had a feeling asking York questions wouldn't get him very far, but in the interest of seeing what would come out of the man's mouth (and maybe a bit of his own masochistic tendencies) he persisted. "What exactly do you like about North?"

- 

York laughed a bit. “Suppose you wouldn’t. Why do you look like Wash?” His tone was light, but the question ran deeper than that. When York thought of Wash, he thought of the Epsilon ordeal. He thought of Wash recovering, and the screaming was still familiar to him. York thought of the snacking rookie, instead. Well, he tried to, anyway.

 

“Everything about North,” York grinned, then sighed, leaning back. “No, but for serious, just-just his face and his eyes and his smile and that dumb, adorable laugh he does when he manages to make a joke every now and then, so, like, once every five months, and his big damn heart… Just-just a few things… oh, new guy, you have so much to learn. I could spend all of the days telling you about that man, and I would never say enough words.”

 

York stared at nothing in particular, the dumb smile still very present.

- 

Wash gave a small smile too, but it felt forced. "I think I get the idea," he said quietly.

 

He was sincerely glad that North and York had each other, that they had found a way to make a relationship work even in a time like this. He could never regret saving York, especially when it was so clear that the two relied on each other so much. He'd spent a lot of the past day watching North wait at York's bedside. Sometimes he slept, sometimes he just sat, but Wash had come back once to see North leaning over York, holding York's hand in one of his own and running his other through the man's hair. The intimacy of the moment had Wash returning to his room, where he'd sat cross-legged on the bed and tried to convince himself that he didn't care about them as much as he'd used to.

 

If he was being honest with himself though, he wanted what they had. He practically ached with the need for it, for York to look at him with that smile and clearer, sober eyes. For North's hand to reach for his when they found themselves next to each other. For the closeness that came with such an unbreakable bond. And that jealousy at what they had, that desire for both of them, was all the more reason for him to get away. Because there was no way that they would accept him in to their relationship, and the last thing he wanted to do was destroy what they had with his own greed. They didn't deserve that, in fact they deserved so much better. He would spare them the trouble of rejecting him and remove himself from the situation as soon as possible.

 -

North returned to the room then with the water, uncapping it and immediately moving it to York's lips while his other hand helped keep York's head up to prevent it from lolling back. He had the distinct impression that York would have a hard time holding it up on his own right now.

 

"So what do you think of the new guy?" North asked with a smile, glancing at Wash. He almost wished he hadn't though, the joking demeanor the man had before North had left the room was gone, replaced by pursed lips and a faraway look. Wash shook his head, seemed to come back to himself, and gave a nervous attempt at a smile, though North didn't buy it.

 -

York drank the refreshing water, grateful his arms didn’t have to do anything. He looked over at Wash when North asked about him, his dumb grin returning. “He makes me miss Wash,” he told North, his voice sounding far away, as if he was about a long lost childhood.

 

Washington’s arrival to Project Freelancer had been a breath of fresh air. On the days when he was being ignored, or the nights when he couldn’t bear watching Carolina train and North was sleeping or comforting Theta, Wash had been a distraction. It was so easy to escape everything and just talk to the kid, or joke with him. Talking to Washington had been easy. York also enjoyed not being the youngest Freelancer. Wash’s presence had always helped York relax. As easygoing as he tried to be, it got hard the longer he was with the Project. Especially after Tex showed up. Carolina was always in a bad mood those days, and York truly appreciated Wash as his friend then.

 

“Hey, North… if-if we’re not dead, then maybe I’ll get my eyesight back when I’m actually dead,” York would love that. The after-life should definitely have less headaches, even if he’s going to hell. He should have maximum brain function to witness whatever horrors he’d face down there.

 -

North couldn't help a small, sad smile when York mentioned missing Wash. It wouldn't do much good to try and convince him that the man was Wash right now, but it did mean that York would probably be surprised when he woke in a clearer state of mind. "Maybe Wash will stop by, I've heard he's nearby. Hopefully he visits. Maybe he'll even stay." North met Wash's eyes with his own. The other man blinked, looked from North to York and seemed to be working on keeping a neutral expression.

 

York's apparent fascination with his own death was unsettling to say the least, especially after he'd come so close to dying so recently. But North chalked it up to the painkillers making him loopy, and as much as it bothered him he would keep answering York in an attempt to keep him content.

 

"Hopefully you get to see the pearly gates with your own eyes," he said, feeling like he was trying to placate York. "Though I also hope that doesn't happen for a long time."

 -

York chuckled at North, because he was talking crazy talk, now. “You’re a funny one, you are,” he informed the man. His eyes closed for a second, because it felt like they should be closed. “A riot, really,” he continued, though it was unclear whether he was serious or not.

 

He yawned, and looked at North again. “You’re blurry, buddy,” the fatigue appeared to be affecting him. “Maybe you should lie down for a little bit, North. Blurry isn’t good…” York’s uninjured hand reached over to attempt to pick at the bandages on his side. “I’m gonna… shhhhh,” York mumbled, eyes closing once more as he fell into sleep.

***

When York opened his eyes again, a good amount of time had passed. His head was a lot clearer, though. He felt the pain from his injuries along with a splitting headache. ‘ _Man, that fucking sucked.’_ he thought to himself. He looked around the room, and his eyes found North. York remembered what happened to the Meta in that moment, and his right hand reached for the back of his neck, even though he knew what he’d find.

 

The look on York’s face was as if he was looking for hope, or lost and looking to find his way, but he knew there was no way to achieve it ever again. It was pure, intense emotion. It was the kind of emotion he would normally try to hide, but he was still recovering from his physical injury, and there was no way for him to have immediately put up an emotional shield. York’s good eye tried to find the answers that didn’t exist when he looked at North. His voice was soft, barely above a whisper, “Alex… it’s so quiet…”

 

After a second passed, he blinked and looked away. He wasn’t about to cry, it was the dirt and dust. He cleared his throat, because he should have remembered what their last resort plan was. He should have remembered initiating it, and the soft green light that appeared before a ripping pain. He should have. He wouldn’t let himself forget again.

 -

After York drifted off again, North laid his head back down gently. He looked to where Wash was sitting, but the man was gone. North tried to not assume the worst as he returned to his chair by York's bed, drifting off as the minutes ticked by into a light, restless nap.

 

He wasn't sure how much time had passed when he opened his eyes and sat up, but when he looked at York the man was awake, one hand at the back of his neck and looking back with an expression that made North's heart ache.

 

He said nothing, letting the other man gather his thoughts and draw his own conclusions if he needed to. The sound of York's voice, so helpless and lost and deeply sad, tore North apart. The sound of his own name in such a voice was enough to bring up a tidal wave of emotions that he did not need to be dealing with at the moment. He knew that York hated showing emotion, and he wasn't even sure if he would want North in the room while he processed everything he had been through.

 

It hurt that he had a hand in York's pain. North had been the one to activate the EMP. The Metaphorical blood of the AI fragments was on his hands, and he knew that he wouldn't blame York for being angry, for hating him. He'd killed Theta, for god's sake. He hated himself for that alone.

 

"I know," he simply replied quietly, looking at York's chest, unable to meet his eyes for long. "It's a little shocking at first." He wanted to comfort York, but he had no idea if it would be welcome.

 -

York thought to when he talked to North just before his implantation. He’d said something similar about first hearing another voice in your head, he was certain. York cleared his throat, trying to collect himself, to suppress the emotions that were cracking his very being.

 

He had been with Delta for so long, the AI really felt like a part of him. He’d always lacked some common logic, and Delta had seemed to fill the gap perfectly. His relationship with the AI had started shaky, but recently had seemed to be the most stable part of his life. The voice felt just as familiar as his own voice… York felt nauseous. He suppressed the gag that wanted to come up.

 

There was no part of him that blamed North, that didn’t even cross his mind. He’d known they were beat from the second he’d heard Delta say ‘Alert’ and turned to see the Meta three feet away. Maybe he’d known before then, but that was when he realized he wouldn’t make it out. And, he probably shouldn’t have made it out, honestly.

 

“Wash… i-is Wash here?” he needed to change the subject, think about anything else. He remembered the grey and yellow armor, but anything else from when he woke up before was hazy. If Wash wasn’t there, then he’d had a crazy dream. York looked down, assessing his injuries. Shoulder, side, knee. No wonder it felt like he’d been ripped open, he practically had been.

 -

North remembered how much the silence had haunted him at first, how he couldn't hear anything but his own voice in his head echoing against his skull. He desperately hoped that York hadn't been as aware of Delta's removal as North had been of Theta's. He wasn't sure he would wish that kind of agony, the feeling of a part of your mind calling for you as it's being torn from your very being, on anyone.

 

At York's question North nodded, he had a few ideas as to where Wash could be. He only hoped the other man hadn't decided to wander around outside the base, which was unlikely but still a possibility. North had noticed that the other man had become extremely paranoid in the time that he'd been away from them.

 

"I can go get him," he said, staring at York's hands. "He'll want to know you're awake. Do you-Is there anything you need?" He stood, stepping a bit closer to York's bed, reaching out as if searching for something for his hands to do. He needed to feel like he was doing something productive, that he was actively trying to alleviate York's pain, that he deserved his friend.

- 

York nodded at the suggestion to get Wash. A small smile played across his face, maybe 75% sincere, and he said, “We did it… I don’t need anything.” He rested his head back on the pillow, and added, “Though water would be greatly appreciated.” He looked up at North, realizing they were lucky, all things considered. They were both alive and okay, and the Meta was dead. That was incredible.

 

He had spent a lot of time wondering what he would say to Wash if he saw him. It crossed his mind pretty frequently since he’d saved North and learned that the agent was on Recovery. He hadn’t seen Wash since sitting at his bedside after the Epsilon implantation, and the other man likely didn’t even remember that. From what York had heard, Wash had gone downhill after the siege.

 

When York looked up again, he saw Wash, and his eyes softened. He’d imagined this for some time, he admitted to himself. He waved Wash closer, wishing he wasn’t injured and he could pull the man in front of him into his arms. He looked exactly the same and entirely different. He looked older, and York hated the Director even more in that moment, for taking away Wash’s joy.

 

He made eye contact the best he could, and he spoke clearly, his right hand curling into a fist, since he couldn’t reach out. “I’m so sorry, Wash. I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I’m sorry about what happened… I’m sorry that the word ‘sorry’ isn’t enough… and I’m told you’re the reason I’m alive, so thank you for that. Despite the circumstances, it’s great to see you.”

 

York wasn’t a fan of being so emotional, so he figured he was stalling feeling emotions about anything else that happened, and that’s why he was allowing this. He refused to think he wasn’t in control of his emotions anymore, that was crazy. He looked to North with the same, softer look on his face, and he felt safe. He couldn’t explain it, but he really did. He felt broken and bruised, and the pain was slowly returning to his injuries, but he knew that with these two blonde guys there, he’d recover fine and nothing worse could happen. It was comforting.

- 

North nodded with a matching smile, happy enough to see York was at least somewhat comfortable. He was sure that York would start feeling more pain as the days went on, and they had some medication that would dull it but nothing strong enough to eliminate it entirely without also knocking him out. He turned to leave the room, sparing York one last glance, but when he faced the doorway Wash was already there with a bottle of water in hand.

 

"Figured he'd need it eventually," he said gruffly as he walked past North. North let his smile grow a bit wider, a bit more satisfied, before turning back around and standing near Wash. He could already feel himself falling back into old ways, back into centering himself around what the other two were doing. Always on the sidelines to provide guidance or help. Ready to keep them from doing something stupid.

 

Wash had thought he'd prepared himself for seeing York again. He thought he'd be able to look at the man and not have to try and speak through the emotion suddenly clogging his voice, making his eyes sting and his throat close up. He supposed it had been easier to close himself off when North and York weren't so close, making him feel safe and calm and so unlike anything he'd felt in a long time. They were familiar, too familiar, and it was already too easy to consider dropping his guard around them. To consider staying.

 

He had to remind himself that saving York didn't change anything. That North was grateful for him right now but he wouldn't be once he saw how damaged Wash really was. That York would think he recognized him, only to realize that the Washington he'd known on the MOI was gone. He tried to make it easier but his smile still felt tight. He wasn't sure if his eyes were as emotionless as he'd like them to be. He figured he would give York a pass on the look on his face if the other man wouldn't mention what Wash looked like.

 

"You don't need to thank me," he insisted. "I don't usually get there in time to save anyone. It was a...a nice change. It's been too long. I'm-" he paused, trying to maintain a level tone in his voice. "I'm very glad to see that you're okay."

- 

York’s smile became more genuine, despite rough and tough new Wash. Hearing him say that did mean a lot. He really missed the simpler times as he looked at the other man. He missed the dorky curly straw and the jokes. Unfortunately, York realized in that moment, or it fully hit him, that they would never return to those times. They were in the past now, and there was no going back.

 

When York tried to move, to angle his body to be looking more at Wash and North, he stopped from the pain. The movement had felt natural to start with. York supposed it would take time for his brain to remember the injuries before acting. His hand went to his side, and he tried to keep the look of pain off of his face, but it still looked like a grimace. He could feel exactly where the Meta had torn into him, and less so the bullet injuries.

 

Not one to dwell on emotional moments, (or maybe to distract himself from all the ways he was physically fucked up,) York simply asked, “how long ‘til we need to leave?” Through the pain and headache, he recognized that they would need to move soon. For that to happen, he would need to heal quickly, and that’s exactly what he planned on doing. York didn’t want pity and definitely refused to hold them back. Besides, he healed pretty quickly.

 

As long as he kept his thoughts busy, he wouldn’t think about any injuries or about the deafening silence in his mind. He just barely picked at the gauze covering his side, because if he put his hand on the injury, it would hurt more. Though he was conscious and carrying conversation, he had very recently been injured, so the nausea was to be expected. He drank water and willed it to go away. He hated throwing up.

 -

Wash noticed North move closer when York made a noise of pain, and he stepped aside to let North reach York. The last thing he wanted to do was intrude on them, and North had always been better at being a mother hen. He turned and ducked out of the room, heading to the med bay in search of something to take the edge off York's pain. He wasn't too invested in where they planned on going without him anyway.

 

"We'll wait until you're healed up," North said, trying as best as he could to act soothing. He laid a hand over York's forehead and could feel a layer of sweat along the man's brow. "Don't worry about it just yet, we can make plans. I've been looking at the maps around here, at the surrounding areas. We can find plenty of places to bounce from on this planet, and after that we've got a whole universe to consider." His hand moved, cupping York's cheek for a moment before moving away.

 

"And don't pick at your bandages," he snapped lightly. "If you reopen that wound Wash might not have enough blood in him for another emergency." He'd meant that to be a joke but his smile faltered, and something about it didn't seem as funny when he said it aloud.

 

"These should help," Wash said as he entered the room, fist clenched around two pills. He deposited them into York's hand.

 

"If you can keep those down," North said. "I'll make you something to eat. You should eat anyway. But it would be good to know if you can even handle it right now."

 

"If not there's always protein shakes," Wash said. "They have plenty of that powder stuff in the pantries here. No milk though, guess water will have to do." He moved to North's chair, sitting down and leaning back, crossing is arms in front of his chest. "Can't imagine it can make them taste any worse," he muttered. It was easier to talk about things that didn't matter. Easier to have discussions with little substance. It helped him make the distance in his mind clearer.

 -

When North held his cheek for a moment, it felt like some of York’s worries dissolved on the spot. He looked down and saw his hand picking at the bandage. He hadn’t really realized he’d been doing it, necessarily. He looked up at North with a cheeky smile.

 

“Thanks,” York told Wash when he received the pills. He was glad he didn’t need to ask for painkillers, and even more glad that he lived in a world where painkillers existed. He swallowed them with water, looking to North at the mention of food. He supposed he should eat. That might be helpful.

 

York hated to think that he was keeping them there. With Freelancer looking for them and under investigation, it was likely they would be tracked down. No doubt the UNSC would discover the Director’s crimes and they would all pay for it. York knew they needed to move out sooner rather than later. He really wished that moving wouldn’t fuck him up. He could deal with the pain, or he’d make himself, but he felt so useless sitting in a bed, unable to move. The nausea rose back up.

 

As one who is quite skilled in the act of ignoring important things to discuss trivial things, York was quick to hop on board the mindless discussion train with Wash. “Tell me you’re exaggerating a little. I mean, not all of us have the refined palette you have, Wash.” York’s cheeky grin reappeared as he looked at the younger soldier. He glanced to North for a second, once again missing the days when he could get away with winking.

 -

North found it easier to return York's wide smiles with his own, especially as the moments ticked by and the reality that he was okay settled in. Logically North had known that the man would wake up eventually, but there had still been that irrational worry in the back of his mind. The fear that all of their efforts had failed, that even Wash's blood hadn't been enough to save him. It was part of what kept him up at night.

 

Oddly enough, he figured he should probably be more worried about the UNSC looking for them, but after the looming threat of the Meta hanging over them for so long North couldn't bring himself to worry. They would deal with it as they always had, together, and that thought was enough to comfort him. He truly hoped that York didn't feel like a burden on them, but he also a had a feeling that he was wrong about that. The other man had grown solemn again when he'd mentioned staying until he healed properly.

 

North liked to watch Wash and York bicker, he always had, and it was easy for him to step back and let them talk about meaningless things for a while. When York smiled at him again he returned it fondly, but he couldn't help but notice a sadness in the man's eyes that nearly made him look away.

 

Wash smiled a bit in response to York, but he had a feeling his lacked the same joy that York's smile had. He knew the longer they sat around talking like old times would make it too easy to get attached again. But it was just too painful a thought to consider leaving now, or trying to put a distance between himself and them before they left. So he figured he would take advantage of whatever attention they would give him, keep every conversation close and save if for the future when he needed something nice to remember.

 

"Hey, don't act like I haven't been working my way through the snacks already. North can confirm, though, they didn't leave much of a selection when they cleared out of here." He glanced at North, who met his gaze for a second and looked away quickly. "Speaking of which, do we know whose base this once was? And if they might come back?"

 -

Seeing the two men smile, even a little, made York's feel genuine. He had been so used to seeing everything go wrong and the people he cared about get screwed over. He had gotten used to Delta's constant paranoia and statistics of the many ways they could die or get caught. It was almost nice to let all of that fade away for a bit.

 

Seeing even a dash of the old Wash was enough for York to confirm that the tough blonde next to North was still the ridiculous rookie he knew. Sure, he'd been through some changes. They all had. It's a part of life. If he could bring back their Wash, and if North was there to watch over both of them, there wasn't any reason to worry.

 

Well, maybe the being defected soldiers from a criminal military project. But, nothing else.

 

"Well, I can't say I'm surprised," York told Wash. "I stopped wondering where the snacks came from a while ago. Too much of a headache. Not even.." York only paused for a second, but kept on with the same, nearly cheerful tone, "not even Delta could figure it out. You probably line your armor with all kinds of food, for all we know."

 

York cleared his throat, wanting anything other than pity. He didn't mean to mention Delta, especially with Wash around. It's hard when it feels like another person is coexisting with you to ignore the conversations and jokes you once shared. He was mad he’d opened his mouth, but what else was new?

 

To change the subject, he said, "Might be insurrection's old base. The word around the street was they had a hideout somewhere in this region." Living in the shadows and on the run was one way to hear information, especially when you get hired for small, petty theft/B&E jobs.

- 

At the mention of Delta North's smile faltered, and he had to look away from York as guilt shot through him again. He wasn't sure if he could have been able to take down the Meta without the EMP but...he knew he still should have tried. There had to have been other options and the fact that he hadn't thought of them just made him feel worse. He thought of having to rip Delta out of York and his hand twitched. His stomach twisted.

 

He stepped back, away from the bed. "I-I should-" he stammered, heading for the door. "I should, uh. Food. I should get food."

 

Wash remained in the chair, but his smile took on a forced edge. "Yeah," he said, looking anywhere but York. "Yeah Delta always knew shit like that." He had put two and two together when he'd seen the EMP, and he knew that if there had been any way to save the AI North would have absolutely done it and already shown Theta off to him. Despite his own horrible experience with AI, he'd taken a liking to both Theta and Delta, and he knew that North and York deeply cared about them.

 

He nodded at York's words. "Makes sense. They left a lot behind, guess they cleared out in a hurry." He wondered what York had been doing in his time alone and he nearly asked him, but fear of prying too deep into the past kept him silent. North returned with a bowl of soup then and Wash was glad for the distraction.

 

"I hope you like tomato or chicken noodle, that's all that I could find." he said, and Wash noticed that he seemed a bit more detached than before, more distant. He got up to help York sit fully upright, ready to help in any way needed yet trying not to crowd around York too closely.

 -

York caught himself absent-mindedly picking at the small bandage on the back of his neck. He quickly moved his hand back down. “We know what happened to them?” York hadn’t kept tabs well enough in his time in the shadows, and he actually didn’t quite know what the Insurrectionists were up to. Since learning about what really went down in Freelancer, he’d mostly been focused on that, staying under the radar, and working jobs.

 

He only let himself inhale sharply when he was helped to the sitting position. He dissolved any noise of pain that his body wanted to make. To some degree, every deep breath he took caused the pain to flair up. The few chuckles he’d given, since laughter didn’t seem to come naturally to any of them anymore, were brutal. He looked up at North, pretending the pain wasn’t there. He somehow made it a little easier to forget, and it really helped keep York relaxed, even if North didn’t appear to be entirely _there._

 

“After MREs, anything sounds delicious,” he informed the man. York’s gaze turned to Wash. It felt so right to see both of them at the same time, again. He had been so worried he’d never see them again that almost hadn’t considered the possibility of all three of them being okay one day. Delta had calculated the odds once, and they weren’t very likely. It was a nice relief.

 

York was hesitant with his words, he didn’t want to ask about the past, but he wasn’t quite sure what to say. He ate his soup, instead. It tasted good, even if he had to force it down. He wasn’t hungry, truthfully, but maybe he couldn’t feel any of those little things right now. Maybe pain wasn’t the worst. Something about being made soup made York feel a little more useless, but he would try to deal with it.

 -

Wash shrugged, watching York eat. "Last I heard they were laying low. Maybe budget cuts happened. Or something scared them off." He laughed, but he wasn't entirely sure he found his own joke funny. "I've mostly been in charge of picking up whatever the Meta left in his wake. I was on a need-to-know basis with that information, and they didn't usually think I needed to know." Wash had to wonder what York and North had been up to since getting back together. Before he could ask, North spoke up.

 

"I'm sorry." He sounded so helpless, so lost, it made Wash look at him with wide, shocked eyes. "You shouldn't be in so much pain, I- You shouldn't have gotten so hurt. I should have been there for you and I wasn't." 

 

He looked from North to York, until North turned and caught his gaze. "I'm so grateful you saved him," he said to Wash and Wash didn't think he'd ever felt so uncomfortable. If he'd had any doubts that North was not okay, he didn't have them anymore. "But if you hadn't, he would have died and I wouldn't have been able to do anything about it."

 

North was breathing hard, trying to control his racing heart. Seeing the pain in York's face, the way he needed help to even sit up in bed, had set something off in him. He'd had to say something, but he had really only meant to say he was sorry. He wasn't sure where the words were coming from but he held a fist over his mouth to stop more from spilling out. He closed his eyes, trying to calm himself. He had to remind himself that York was alive, that the past didn't matter anymore. He had to focus on taking care of York, at the very least helping him until he was well enough to get out of bed. When he was sure he had control over himself, his hand returned stiffly to his side.

 

"I'm sorry," he said again, quietly. "I shouldn't...that wasn't supposed to happen."

- 

York’s eyes widened, and he glanced at Wash for a second before focusing on North’s words. What a dumb fool. York was staring at North, and he spoke in a voice that was far more serious than normal. “Alex,” he spoke slowly, “this is not your fault. It was my plan. I’m the dumbass who didn’t recognize when I’d been beat. It is not your fault.” He spoke slowly and clearly, and so very un-York-like.

 

Was York upset at how things had ended up? Absolutely not. They were alive, for fuck’s sake! Wash was there, and they were relatively fine. Did he miss Delta? Yes. He would miss that annoying green dude forever, probably. But, he understood why it happened. Hell, he’d been lucky to be with D for as long as he was. He didn’t let himself dwell on it, though.

 

There was so much York couldn’t say. Not for lack of want, but because he could never find the right words to say. He’d always let his fighting do the talking, or avoided said ‘talking’. He put his foot in his mouth every time he tried to talk, and it was almost impressive. He wanted to explain to North what it meant to see him care so deeply, to tell him that he cared a hell of a lot, too. He wanted to tell Wash that he would never leave him again. He wanted to tell them it would all be okay. Unfortunately, words were not York’s strong point.

 -

Wash stood and moved to North slowly, hands raised in a way he hoped was placating. North seemed to be trying to look anywhere but him and York, but when Wash stopped in front of him North's eyes met his. He'd been used to seeing such a look in his own eyes, but to suddenly see it on North's face was startling. It was so wrong, so unwanted. He never wanted North to look that way ever again.

 

"Do you need to take five?" he said gently, and North just gave a bitter laugh. It felt hollow, a cheap imitation of the genuine chuckle Wash had loved.

 

"I've needed to take five for a long time now," North replied. He looked back at York, reached out to brush his fingertips over the back of York's hand. "I really am sorry. You-you shouldn't have seen that."

 

To hear York talk in such a way made his insides twist with guilt again, and as much as North was tired of the guilt he just couldn't help it. But he also knew that bitching about it and stressing York out wasn't going to help the man heal any faster. He would be the first to admit that he'd put York's wellbeing far before his own, and as much as he didn't think he deserved it he knew the other man cared about him too.

 

When he looked at Wash the man seemed less tense but still on edge, as if North were a wounded, cornered animal ready to bite whoever came close. North tried his best to visibly relax, to put Wash at ease. "We should start figuring out where we're going to go after York heals up," he said quietly. "The sooner we have a plan the sooner we can leave when we're ready."

 -

York looked between the two for their part of the interaction. The look in his eye was an intense one, and it only softened when North’s fingertips barely touched the back of his hand. It felt like the small places North had barely touched him were the only parts of him that mattered in that moment. Their physical connection, for the little bit that it was, did manage to calm the fire in York’s eyes just a little bit.

 

Hearing North’s bitter laugh was like another blow from the Meta. York thought that if they ever put that laugh in a suspense or horror film, it would be the most terrifying film ever. The sound bothered him, worried him, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to make North smile.

 

York wasn’t completely dumb. The fact that North didn’t reply to what he had said and was trying to move on agitated the lockpick. He wasn’t going to force them to deal with their emotional crap, not close, not when it was about the AI or injuries. However, North’s obvious guilt was frustrating. York averted his eyes to Washington’s face. He felt like a jackass for not considering the other man’s feelings. Then, he felt like a sissy for thinking about feelings at all. It was a cycle.

 

Instead of looking at North or enduring Wash’s concerned, near-frightened eyes, York looked down at his soup. He worried that if he said anything, he’d get mad. North shouldn’t feel any guilt at all. York pointedly looked at the bowl as he quietly consumed the soup. No way he trusted himself to talk. Besides, he was certain Washington’s brain had considered possibilities already. York’s source of logic wasn’t exactly there anymore, after all.

- 

Wash looked away when North mentioned planning their next move, in a way that made North a bit suspicious. It seemed to be a topic he didn't want to talk about, but North couldn't understand why it would be. It was important, and Wash knew he was coming with them, right?

 

"Sure," Wash just said gruffly. "Yeah. We should." He didn't want to, was the only problem. He'd just started settling back into the familiarity of them both, he didn't want to consider where he was going to go without them now. He didn't want to think about what it would feel like to watch them leave. He figured it would be at least a week or so before York even felt like walking, let along traveling anywhere, and Wash wanted to spend his time with them as happy as he possibly could. He wasn't sure he would feel this safe ever again. "Maybe later though," he added, trying to find a cop-out and nodding toward York. "He's gotta eat, after all."

 

North looked from Wash to York, confusion furrowing his brow. Clearly Wash didn't want to talk about it, and with the time they had ahead of them to plan he figured he wouldn't pry. He filed the concern away though, as something to be discussed at a better time. "Sure," he said. "It can wait, I guess."

 

Now that he's returned to looking at York his gaze trailed down the man's face. He was relieved to see the color improving, even after a day of rest York was already looking better. "Speaking of eating," he asked, "how does your stomach feel? You think you'll keep that down?"

 -

 _Son of a bitch, he ratted me out_ , York thought to himself. He’d really been hoping that he wouldn’t have to attempt to form words for at least a few minutes, maybe. York felt like a child just slightly. He was lying down, looking up at them, unable to move or to be at their level. They were looking after him, to some degree, and York absolutely hated it.

 

It was probably the painkillers, or the injuries, or the emotions he was shoving aside, but York was more annoyed than he should have been. He kept his breathing steady and tried to focus on the question North had asked him. “Uh… maybe. I mean, we’ll see, right?” he tried to give a sly smile, but he knew already that it was crap. He’d always been a terrible liar.

 

He tried not to blame Wash for not wanting to discuss things. The man had been through a lot, he’d been alone for probably too long. York wasn’t even sure if Washington knew the extent of what had happened in the project yet. He just knew that Epsilon had killed itself in his head, not any of the other details.

 

And as far as North went… York felt like not talking about things was putting up a wall, and they’d just managed to break down the wall between them. He really didn’t want to see it go back up, not now. Wash was already guarded, and York was going to work at that as he could. He really wanted North’s help with that.

 

Instead of yelling or who knows how else he could have expressed his frustration, York simply tried to readjust himself. The previous emotions on his face would probably mask the pain. He wasn’t necessarily hungry, he was mostly eating because North had handed him food and told him to do so. That, and he figured eating should happen. He put his hand to his injury, trying to see if it made him throw up on the spot or not. He didn’t throw up, so that was probably a good sign. The pressure he put over the bandage both felt horrible and wonderful. York figured he’d have at least a little leeway for acting weird, since he’d just been ripped open with a rifle-knife.

 -

North could see the irritation building up in York, in the way he tensed and the sudden edge to his voice. He nearly flinched, stepping back and giving York his space, the corners of his mouth dipping into a frown. He hadn't even considered how York would feel stuck in a bed, having Wash and North hovering around him and looking down on him, and he knew York wasn't the type to appreciate being talked down to in any sense of the phrase.

 

He didn't want to put space between them, not after they'd only so recently grown close again, but he could already feel himself doing so. He suddenly understood how York had felt while giving him space as he'd healed. York seemed to be in no mood to talk, and if time to himself would make York happy North would leave him alone.

 

The pain on York's face as he tried to adjust himself made North's heart ache, but he wasn't sure if his help would be seen as helping or patronizing, and he forced himself to remain still. Every instinct in him still screamed to help in some way.

 

Wash watched both of them, trying to figure out what had happened in such a short time to change the climate of the room so rapidly. He saw York put a hand to his side, momentarily worried that a stitch had popped open, but was relieved to see no blood seeping through the bandage. He was still worried about York's wounds opening back up. There was a lingering fear that if he left for too long something would happen, and they would need more blood and he wouldn't be there. He hoped the fear passed before he left, otherwise it would be one more thing to keep him up at night.

 

"Do you need anything, York?" he asked. With any luck York would, and Wash would have an urgent reason to leave the room for a bit. If nothing else he supposed he could go on patrol again, but he had a feeling North would see through that excuse easily.

 -

York focused on breathing for a few seconds. He looked up to Wash, and he couldn’t think of anything. He shook his head. “No, I should probably should sleep or something, I guess,” he tried to keep his voice level. He didn’t think he’d be able to sleep through the pain, but maybe he would be able to calm himself down. He hated feeling like this.

 

York looked down at the bandages, and for a moment his brain seemed to shut off. He poked at where the injury was, and then seemed to twitch from the shock it sent through his body. That was stupid.

 

He looked up at North and his shoulders slouched a bit. He felt the nausea in his stomach, and tried to breathe deeply without moving too much. York became even more annoyed at himself, but that was the kind of thing he was used to ignoring, so it was fine.

 

Despite the mood he had acquired, York really didn’t want to be alone. He wanted to hear what Wash had been through, and he wanted the other to confide in him. If nothing else, he wanted to hear what Wash knew about the project, he wanted Wash to open up to both of them. York wanted to see Wash’s smile again. He wanted a lot of things, but he had no way of achieving them.

 

He wouldn’t be able to ask it or even think it, but some deep part of him really didn’t want to be alone. He was frustrated that North would feel guilty for something that wasn’t his fault, and he felt like the real Wash was trapped in the shell of this new man, but even then, he didn’t want to spend time away from them. He still felt a little nauseous, but his fear of being left with his thoughts pushed towards his mind. There was a feeling of desperation that York couldn’t classify or understand, but it helped at least to keep his thoughts occupied.

 -

North and Wash shared a look at York's words. North couldn't help but feel like York really didn't want to be alone, he was very worried that putting distance between them right now wouldn't be a good thing, but at the same time he wasn't sure if staying at York's bedside was what the man wanted either.

 

He tried to think back to his own recovery weeks ago, at what he would want if he was in York's place, but the memories were most full of a pain and grief that he still hasn't truly faced, and the thought of trying to sift through those feelings at a time like this was something he wasn't sure he could do without another outburst like the one he'd had before.

 

"That's probably a good idea. We should let you sleep," Wash said, and a part of North was glad he hadn't been the one to decide that. "I should probably take that too, if you're done," Wash said, before taking the now probably cold soup from York's lap. He'd barely eaten it, North noticed, but something was better than nothing. He watched the man glance from him to York a few more times before turning and leaving the room. Giving a small sigh, he looked at York.

 

"I'm not a mind reader," he said gently. "If you need something, let me know. Please." The last thing he wanted was for York to suffer in silence or think he couldn't tell North something important. He didn't want to leave, was trying desperately to find some reason to stay, but he couldn't find it and as he moved further from the bed he couldn't help but feel like he was letting York down.

 -

York was simultaneously relieved and concerned when Wash agreed with him. He glanced at the soup and knew that if he tried to consume more, he wouldn’t have kept it down. His eyes looked up at Wash as he left and he told himself he would make an effort to talk to him later.

 

York looked up at North, and then quickly looked somewhere else. “Of course,” he spoke quietly and nodded a little bit. The cognitive dissonance was eating at him, and he felt like it was his fault for overreacting. York wondered briefly if he was unable to react to normal situations when he was so injured. He sort of looked up and gave a final nod as North left the room.

 

He took a breath in and out. He attempted to scoot forward on the bed so he could lay down, but had to stop himself twice from the pain. He was doing his best to stay stoic and calm, and he would not be stumped by the act of lying down.

 

After getting to the position, he had to stop himself from putting too much pressure on his stitches. Instead, he tested the functionality of his injured knee. Not awful. York stopped moving and testing his various body parts, only to clench his hands into fists and then unclenched them. He couldn’t stand sitting still. He wanted to move around, he’d never dealt well with immobility.

 

Since he was left immobile and unable to sleep, York’s mind drifted. It was so quiet in his thoughts without Delta. He shouldn’t have, but he wondered what the AI would be thinking in his current situation. His first thought was that he would be attempting to explain to Delta all of the emotions the computer program couldn’t understand. A bitter smile made its way to his face. York realized that he would never hear his friend’s voice tickle the back of his thoughts.

 

York no longer had to hide the look from his face. He closed his eyes and his right hand became a fist once more. He felt the pressures and the pain, and he couldn’t tell what was from a physical pain or something else. All he knew was that it _hurt_. He felt his body tensing and shaking, bringing more stabbing feelings in him. His face felt warm, and he wondered if there was a leak, mind too rattled to comprehend the fact that he was crying.

- 

He kept tensing and cringing in a terrible cycle, the only control he had was over his voice, and he was almost silent. He made sure he kept breathing, not wanting to make noise. He tried not to think about Delta, or about the project, Carolina, the Director, any of it. He tried to forget that their lives were entire wildcards at this point, that there was no clear direction their lives were heading. He tried.

 

York felt waves and spasms of pain, and he tried to get control of his body again. He kept his eyes closed, still feeling his body tremor, and every tremor brought another agonizing flare of pain in his body, as if rippling from the stitched up cut. The pain was shocking, worse than the eye, for sure.

 

After he didn’t know how long, York’s breathing finally slowed. He still kept his eyes closed, because it was nice to have the illusion that they were equal. He still felt like the cut was on fire, but his thoughts had finally slowed and calmed a little bit. His right hand had a death grip on the sheets, and the shaking had calmed a bit. He had no clue how much time had passed, and he didn’t care. He was exhausted and hurting, and for some reason, he was unable to fall asleep for an amount of time that lasted far too long.

 

The night was crisp and clear, moonlight shining down as North surveyed the deserted landscape. He was perched on the roof of the base, sniper rifle in his grip, and the warmth of the gun in his hands was a comfort against the chill of evening. It was quiet as usual, as it had been for the last two weeks, and while he disliked that he also disliked the feeling of being cooped up inside for too long. He could deal with silence and he could deal with confined spaces, but silent confined spaces were where he drew the line.

 

And it wasn't as if he slept much anyway. A night watch every few days was good. He didn't necessarily need more time to himself--he really wanted the opposite, but it still felt like a thick curtain was between him and York at all times, and if they talked about anything it was meaningless chatter, something to fill the silence as North tried to pretend that things were getting better.

 

At the very least, Wash had seemed to be more comfortable with them as the days went on. In fact, whenever he wasn't on watch Wash was almost always at his side or York's. It had struck North as odd, but he wasn't going to question it if it meant Wash was actually talking to them. The only time he ever seemed to distance himself was when North talked about where they would go next. York seemed like he would be able to move soon (though North still saw him try to hide his remaining pain) and North was eager to plan their next move.

 

As it was he resigned himself to another quiet night, feeling comfortable in his armor and secure in his position as protector of the base for the night. It was easy for him to slip into the role, to stay diligent for the sake of the peace of mind of the ones he cared about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Work's been crazy, y'all, so sorry it wasn't out Wednesday and let me know if there's any grammar fuck ups?


	5. Wyoming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> North, Wash - AgentBuzzkill  
> York, Wyoming - CaptainDynamic
> 
> (Mostly. Aside from North and York, we tend to switch off a bit, it seems.)  
> (I say 'seems' because it's been months since this shit was looked at.)

As the days went on, York found himself going absolutely mad. Staying still this long was not at all what he wanted to do, but every time he thought about moving, it seemed, Wash was there to explain how he would injure York further if he tried to get up. There was a lot of sighing on the lock pick’s side of things. He was bored and paranoid, which wasn’t exactly a stellar combination.

 

He had nearly gotten used to the silence in the back of his mind, or he had convinced himself of that. Every morning he woke up, there were a few seconds of panic that passed before he remembered everything. His body had gotten used to getting up without the alarm of the AI lecturing York on productivity in the morning time. It was nice to joke with Wash again, and it had begun to feel a little less forced every time they spoke. It was almost completely genuine at this point.

 

York had already begun stretching out his knee and shoulder, and he was fairly sure that if it weren’t for the slash from the knife, he’d be able to at least walk quickly now. York kept trying to joke that his body was biased against his left side or that he’d be able to make shapes out of the number of scars, but it was followed by an awkward silence every time.

-

“You’re sure he’s there, are you?” a deep voice spoke with a clear, English accent into the radio. “Receiving… yes, sounds good… cheerio.” 

 

He ended his side of the call and stretched his arms out. He put his rifle on his back and gathered anything else that was sitting around. He then unclipped from his perch and climbed his way down the tree he had been sleeping in. He gathered his ropes once on the ground and started heading out.

 

The man had defected from Project Freelancer shortly after Tex’s siege and the disappearance of Maine. He took Gamma and ran. He’d just heard that Florida was KIA, and he had no other close connections to savor, not being that kind of person. It was easy for him to sever his ties.

 

He and Gamma had initially just gotten away from it all, but the Meta found them. Gary ripped himself from Wyoming’s head and into a nearby computer system, and for some reason the Meta didn’t finish the job to kill him. He knew Gamma had helped somehow, maybe used his armor enhancement. Reggie wasn’t sure. All he knew was that the Meta was gone, Gamma was gone, and he was still alive. It took longer than he would admit to recover from losing Gamma, but he hid it very well. Keeping his face in a helmet didn’t hurt.

 

It was very shortly after that when the UNSC found him. He was informed that he, along with all the others involved in Project Freelancer, were under investigation, and he needed to cooperate if he hoped to avoid prison. They had found out what the Director did, and were in the process of shutting everything down. He was given a choice; Go to prison, or work. He chose the latter, which meant it was his job to track down his former teammates. He hadn’t ever bonded with any of them enough for it to bother him. He assumed it wouldn’t bother him if he _had_ formed a connection, though. After everything he’d been through in his days, not much bothered him anymore.

 

Wyoming was not given a designation, and he had noticed that there were many inconsistencies with his orders and the UNSC protocol. He was the last resort. He had been one of the top agents in his debunked project, and he was a hunter before he was anything else. Plus, he always thought he worked better alone. He ended up taking on a few jobs from less than savory people, not that he cared at all, and had earned the designation ‘bounty hunter’. He didn’t care what people called him. He got his orders and he did his job. 

 

Most recently, the UNSC had informed him to bring in Agent Washington. He had heard the report that the Meta and Agent New York, who was one of Wyoming’s top profile jobs at the time, had defeated each other. Washington informed command that an E.M.P. was used, so he had no further recoveries to make. This meant it was time for Washington to stop working, time for him to be brought in. Wyoming hopped on his motorcycle and made his way to the given coordinates.

 

He was close to the location in mid-afternoon. He allowed himself to relax until nightfall. Well, relax with a loaded rifle within reach. He didn’t see why they really needed the soldiers alive, and would prefer to just kill them, but the UNSC was specific with his orders, and he wasn’t about to argue with the same people who could just as easily put him away (if they could catch him, of course). He looked through the scope of his rifle into the base. He saw grey and yellow, and he waited until the figure was inside the base before turning on his active camouflage and beginning his approach.

 -

"Hey!" Wash called up to North, looking up at the roof where he knew his friend was positioned. Instead of seeing North's head poke over the side (in a way Wash had quickly come to find endearing) he heard the other man's voice over his helmet's radio.

 

"Yes, Wash?"

 

"Keep an eye out, okay? I have no idea who the UNSC might be sending to bring me in, but they should be here any day now."

 

"Got it." North sounded like he was already psyching himself up for action, and Wash sighed.

 

"If you tell me when they're coming, depending on who it is, we might not have to make this messy. Let me know if you see anything."

 

"You could always just join me," North suggested lightly.

 

"Up there?" Wash laughed a bit. "You know how I feel about heights. And York was saying something about trying to walk some more tonight."

 

"Ah," North said. "Yeah you should be there."

 

Wash had been watching North try his best to worry over York without actually showing that worry, and he was almost surprised that North hadn't volunteered to help York instead. He got the feeling that North was trying to not make his borderline obsessive mothering as obvious as it was, but in Wash's opinion he hadn't been doing the best job at it. The guy was trying his best to care for York in the most indirect ways, telling Wash things to bring him and constantly asking about how he was when Wash knew the man could just as easily go see for himself how York was.

 

"Happy watching, I suppose. See ya." North heard Wash's wry tone in his helmet, and he gave a small chuckle. He eyed the edge of the trees, a flash of something catching his eyes before it faded. He'd had the feeling that someone was watching all day, but he'd mostly chalked it up to paranoia. Still, there was something unsettling in the air.

 -

Wyoming was in pretty good shape. He was a soldier, after all. Unfortunately, he was still large enough that he wasn’t exactly _fast_. Reggie had picked up an active camouflage unit from command last time he’d been there, but he hadn’t used it too much. He had grown so used to blending in naturally and hiding in unsuspecting places, that he didn’t need to. It also wasn’t as easy without Gamma. After his stint in Blood Gulch, then after the Meta, Reginald would admit he'd been relying on his AI a bit too heavily.

 

It took two full seconds before he noticed the camouflage had messed up and he tried to turn it back on, holding his rifle and running the fastest his legs could carry him. “Bollocks,” he muttered, looking around quickly. He wasn’t expecting anybody except for Washington to be there, and Wash had gone inside, but he needed to get to the man quickly if he hoped to take him without trading fire. In absolutely no way did he want a repeat of what happened with Tex.

 

He got closer to the base, and under his breath muttered, “knock knock, Washington.” It was important to keep himself amused during missions so that he didn’t worry about what he was doing or overthink anything. It helped to keep things light.

 -

The sudden appearance of someone nearly had North pulling the trigger on sight and calling for Wash. Someone was armed and headed right towards them, North’s protective instincts kicked into overdrive as he looked through the scope of his rifle, trying to identify who was coming towards them. A flash of white armor shocked him, and he almost couldn’t believe that it was really Wyoming who was running up to their base.

 

He’d never been friendly with Wyoming. Even before York’s injury he’d always gotten a bad vibe from the man, the fact that he then had a hand in half-blinding York and nearly killing him only gave North a very, very good reason to hate him. He’d watched York get over it, wave off North’s concerns when having to work with Wyoming on the field, and North had respected York’s wishes to just let bygones be bygones and accept the man’s (frankly insincere, North thought) apology. When faced with the Meta, North hadn’t really thought of him as Maine. He couldn’t hold much of a grudge on Maine, not when Wash had been so close to him on the MOI and with everything that had happened with Sigma…becoming the Meta couldn’t have been a pleasant experience for Maine. He’d gotten what was coming to him in spades, probably more than he deserved, and in the end North could only pity him. Wyoming, on the other hand, was a very clear enemy. And now, they didn’t have to work with him anymore. In fact they were very much on opposite sides now, and if Wyoming thought he could come and collect Wash as if it were nothing, North would make sure he knew that would never happen.

 

He had a clear shot, could easily pick off the man from a distance. He’d never been the fastest, North remembered, but as the man approached North could feel the anger and frustration from the past weeks building up in him. He’d never been one to let his rage get the better of him, South had said when they were younger that North was scary when he was angry, and in an effort to keep his own sister from being afraid of him he’d calmed down, gotten a handle on his anger and learned to channel it into a punching bag. But he didn’t have a sister anymore, and he’d needed a suitable punching bag for a while now. With any luck he’d be able to do this without much gunfire, and he hoped there was very little chance Wash or York would be alerted to Wyoming’s presence until it was all over.

 

He hurried off the roof as Wyoming approached, trying to take a route that would give him the best possible angle to sneak up on Wyoming. He’d left his rifle behind, opting instead to take hold of the pistol strapped to his hip. It felt good, like an extension of his arm, and North had never figured himself to be someone with a god complex before. He guessed there was a first time for everything.

 

He slipped out of the base quietly, into the cool night air, just in time to see Wyoming nearing the door Wash had entered from. He knew he could only stay hidden for so long, he had to take this as his only chance for surprise. His finger twitched by the trigger of the pistol, ready to fire the moment Wyoming made any kind of move.

-

Wyoming had never really had a strong moral code, or any morals to tell the truth. He told people he had a rough childhood, and while it wasn’t ideal, that wasn’t the reason he never really cared about other people. He never saw the need to take things seriously. He saw human life as an amusing charade. Everything is a joke.

 

Project Freelancer was a great time in his life. Taking down enemies is something he enjoys, because he enjoys challenges. He had the military skills to back up his confidence. He enjoyed what he did, because it was something he was extremely good at. Though he probably wouldn’t admit it, he also truly enjoyed causing someone to lose their life. It was the kind of thrill nothing else could match, and he would admit that he was hooked on the thrill of killing.

 

It was the reason his only connection with another person had been with Florida. Through doing reconnaissance together, they had discovered their mutual understanding of the absolute thrill of completely ruining a person, taking their life. The difference was that for Florida, it was only his negative side. He took his anger out in twisted ways, but still had this kind, caring person in him. Reginald could almost understand the positive lifestyle when he was with Butch. But Butch was gone, as is the same fate everyone must reach, eventually. Reggie missed his friend, but he was the same, joking man as before. There was just an edge to almost all of his jokes, and people never knew if he was being completely serious or just fucking with them. It was usually both.

 

Wyoming didn’t feel guilt for York’s eye. He knew what the Director was doing, though Gamma tried to hide it from him. Gamma had quickly understood that Reggie wasn’t your typical shisno. They had worked well together. Wyoming didn’t understand why the torturing of a computer program was even bad. It didn’t make sense to him why it would even be seen as a bad thing. When the Director told them to use live rounds, Wyoming didn’t even flinch. He just wished he had been better at close quarters fighting. Distance fighting was perfectly fine with him, though. He didn’t mind not seeing the face of someone he killed. He didn’t really care about his targets that much. It was rumored that the reason for his skill was due to the ‘bounty hunter personality’ he had, whatever that meant.

 

They had known York would not use live rounds, so he had not been informed of the plan. Wyoming struggled to understand why the terrible lockpick was still above him on the leaderboard, and it had been very nearly satisfying to be the cause _some_ form of destruction after the failed rounds against Texas. He had been frustrated, to make an understatement. He was physically drained, running on adrenaline entirely by the end. He almost smiled when he saw the cracked visor, but it was only for a second, just before Carolina and the rest got there with the concern. He had accepted the Director yelling at Washington’s comment and had a long conversation with Gamma about it later that night.

 

Closing in on the base, Wyoming swapped the sniper rifle for his battle rifle. He picked a frag grenade and pulled the pin with his teeth, chucking it the way he had seen Washington go. He didn’t expect it to do _a lot_ of damage, if nothing else it was how he hoped to surprise the soldier before getting the jump on him. A similar tactic had worked with Agent Minnesota. He ran after the grenade, ready to go. _After all, he always got his man._

 -

He watched Wyoming take out the grenade, and it only took a split second after recognizing that he was pulling the pin for North to see red.

_I'm not losing them again,_ he thought to himself. _We've come too far. It is not ending like this, I will be damned before it ends like this._

 

The fury washed over him, boiling in his blood and raising his arm, clenching his finger around the trigger and firing. He aimed to wound, to agonize, but not kill. Not before getting a chance to talk. Shot after shot was fired and he felt oddly far away from his own mind, as if his instinct to protect, to defend, to keep his friends safe was in control.

 

He stalked toward the fallen Wyoming, taking his time until he was towering over the man. He stopped at his side and dug his foot into the ground under the man's side, kicking up to flip him over harshly. Wyoming made a noise of pain, and North felt a deep satisfaction that would have scared him if he hadn't still been running on that burning anger, that scream in his mind to protect what he saw as his.

 

"What the _fuck_ ," he asked in a quiet, acidic tone, "do you think you're doing?"

-

Wyoming cursed as the force of the bullets knocked him down. That was not anticipated. Luckily, he had always been able to think on his feet. That was, however, not enough for him to be extremely thrown off by seeing someone he had been informed was dead. He quickly thought back to his Project Freelancer days, and remembered just how much North had always looked out for Washington. He quickly remembered the circumstances he had recently been informed of, and he wondered if York was actually alive, too, but only for a second.

 

He had never seen the other sniper so furious before. “Blimey, you have certainly have surprised me, old chap,” he spoke out. His voice didn’t tremor once. It had the same amused lilt he usually spoke with, as if he wasn’t injured and trapped. He showed no sign of the pain he was obviously experiencing. One would think he had just tripped if it weren’t for the red that was now decorating his white armor.

 

“And I’m _doing_ my job, my dear North Dakota,” he added, to answer the question, pointedly saying the full designated state name of the man standing above him. He was thankful the helmet hid his face, grimacing in the pain from the bullets. He’d been injured in the field a number of times, the worst during the acquisition of the sarcophagus, when he had been on Team Bravo, under North’s leadership, in fact. Wyoming never liked leading, and it was obvious since he was higher on the leaderboard but not the one in charge of their team. Of course, their team had failed the objective, though. Reggie could barely remember being shot, but he had a hazy memory of it. That, and an excruciatingly long pelican ride, only made bearable and only remaining conscious due to dumb jokes and dirty comments Butch continued to tell him.

 

He knew his injuries weren’t lethal, and wondered how they shared a great talent but were so very, very different as people.

-

York’s feet had just touched the ground. He’d needed to try on his own, and he hadn’t suspected Wash would be back soon, somehow. He looked up to see Wash in the doorway, but just as he made his sheepish ‘I was certainly not doing what you explicitly told me not to do’ look, an explosion sounded in the hallway.

 

Wash had his helmet on in seconds, a battle rifle in his hands. He looked at York. “Sit down and stay,” he ordered in a sharp, growling voice. Then he darted to the hallway to move up and take cover.

 

York blinked and Wash was gone. Immediately ignoring what Wash said, York grabbed the knife from under his pillow and the pistol on the bedside table. The sudden movements didn’t feel great, in fact it felt like a sharp tearing, but he ignored that. He hadn’t been trained for an elite team to sit on his ass when the two most important people in his life were fighting for all of them.

 

He was still only in sweatpants, so he shoved his knife in the waistband, in order to turn the pistol’s safety off and prepare for a battle situation. His hand reached to his side, and he resisted the urge to shout in pain. It wasn’t _that_ bad. He reached the doorframe (somehow) and just barely saw the door Wash had gone through close. He half-stumbled, half-ran after the man, thinking of nothing but if North was okay and if Wash really hadn’t been affected by that grenade. It was really close to where he was, and York was almost positive Wash would have been hit.

 

He pushed himself to keep going until he rounded the corner that led to the outside of the base. His adrenaline was likely the blocker to the pain in his side. York was forced to stop when he nearly ran into Wash, who was frozen, looking about 20 or 30 feet away, at two figures. The sun had just set and there was a bit of dust out, so vision wasn’t great for the guy with one eye, but York could just see North standing and what appeared to be someone in a light-colored armor on the ground.

 -

Wash stared at North, not daring to say anything, barely daring to so much as breathe abnormally. He unfroze when he realized York was next to him, but instead of scolding him (which would certainly happen later), he looked directly at York. Were Wash not in full armor, they would have been making eye contact, and York could read the slight movements of a helmet pretty well after all those years. Without words and without wasting any time, Wash stepped to the side so that he was in front of York, who was supporting himself with a wall anyway, obviously in no condition to fight, despite the pistol and knife he had on him.

 -

"I should kill you slowly," North said in the same sharp, quiet tone. "I should skin you alive and rip you limb from limb and leave you to rot. I should send you back to the UNSC in pieces as a warning to anyone who thinks they can get away with coming after the people I care about." He circled Wyoming, staring down at him past the pistol pointed at the man's head, until he reached his feet.

 

"I never had a real reason to do this back on the Mother of Invention. Sure, I always wanted to after your tantrum at having a girl kick your ass lead to one of my best friends losing an eye and nearly losing more than that. But York was always too nice for his own good. Always told me he was fine, to leave the past behind. I didn't make a big deal of it for his sake. But guess what?" He stepped forward, finger moving over the trigger of the pistol. "York isn't here right now."

 

Wyoming tried to speak, but North pulled the trigger. A bullet embedded itself in the ground, inches from Wyoming's head.

 

"I really don't think you _get it_ ," he said, walking back up to Wyoming's left side, lifting one foot and pressing it down on the man's shoulder. "You're not getting out of this easily. Take off your helmet."

 -

Wyoming _really_ wished he still had Gamma. He could go back and try again. He wouldn’t get caught if he just tried one more time. He just needed to fully perfect his plan. He could adapt on the fly, sure, but that wasn’t exactly always enough. There would always be factors you can’t account for, like _a man you thought to be dead getting the jump on you,_ for a random example.

 

He wasn’t usually an easy man to startle, in fact the crew of the Mother of Invention had an ongoing bet that the first person to get him to flinch would get 50 bucks from everyone else. No one succeeded. He didn’t flinch when there was a massive explosion nearby or when he was under fire. He understood it to be because he always expected something bad to happen, so his body wasn’t surprised.

 

He was going to ask where that meant York was, or maybe he was going to make a comment that would piss off North even more, if that were even possible. The bullet shut him up real good, and he felt a flinch from the base of his spine. Reggie had always imagined he’d die in a battle, but he always assumed it would be when he was outnumbered and outgunned and as the enemies closed in on him, he would take down a good number before falling in defeat. The term 'blaze of glory' came to mind. Obviously, he was sadly mistaken.

 

He’d never let his thoughts dwell on the emotional connections his teammates had with each other during the Project. He had zero doubts in this moment that North was absolutely in love with his one-eyed friend, though he wondered how caring could make someone do irrational things.

 

Wyoming tried to push against North’s foot as a gut reaction to the foot on his shoulder. If North was going to shoot him for talking, he figured he should at least try to end it sooner rather than later. He knew he’d been beaten; after all, he wasn’t completely incompetent.

 

As his right arm lifted to take off the helmet, he foolishly spoke to North, “I’m glad to see you are more than the caring sap you were during the project, mate.” He took off his helmet, looking up at the visor of the man trapping him to the ground. He was sweating slightly, probably due to the injuries he had sustained. His face showed that he was in some amount of pain. His hair was a bit shorter than it used to be during the project, but his moustache looked the same as it always had. He let the helmet fall somewhere in the dirt behind him.

- 

North scowled at Wyoming's words, putting more weight down on the foot on his shoulder. "You don't know the first thing about me." Perhaps he cared too much, but it was the caring that fueled his anger. The caring was what had spurred him into action when he saw Wyoming tossing the grenade. The caring was what would make him take a bullet for his friends, it was what said he would defend them to the death. He failed to see how it was a bad thing, especially in that moment.

 

"Perhaps not," Wyoming replied, still smug as ever, and North knew the longer he let the man talk, the quicker the upper hand would slip from him. He adjusted his grip on the pistol, and he gained some satisfaction at the color draining from Wyoming's face at the twitch of his finger on the trigger.

 

"You know, it's funny how the ones who seemed to care about no one got picked off so easily," he said, a false lightness to his tone. "Whatever happened to Florida?"

 

North had expected more of a reaction, but he supposed raised eyebrows was enough from the man who simply muttered a curse at a broken toe once.

 

"I don't know why I expected remorse," he said, and Wyoming managed to put his smug face on again. "I don't know why I thought you might have something worthwhile to say. You were always scum, nothing's changed."

 

Wyoming blinked up at him. "We both know what you expect, North Dakota, and I don't believe I have anything to do with that."

 

North was silent, and Wyoming took it as encouragement to keep talking.

 

"I don't believe I have any grand confessions or apologies. Truly I don't regret a single thing I've done, including the injury to your little bed warmer. I can leave you with this, however: Knock knock-"

 

Two quick shots rang out, interrupting Agent Wyoming and silencing him for good.

 

North lowered his weapon, surveying the scene with grim satisfaction.  Even in death Wyoming still carried that pompous smugness, but the effect was ruined somewhat by the gore splattered on the ground behind him. Blood ran down from where North had shot his left eye and forehead for good measure.

 

He stepped back from the body, any pleasure at the kill short-lived as he remembered the grenade Wyoming had tossed toward the base. Looking up, he saw two figures silhouetted in the light of the base, and North immediately hoped they hadn't seen a lot of that. His first instinct was to keep fighting, his second to turn and run, but neither would help in this situation. He had to confront them about this, had to face what he'd just done, and he could only hope they shared his opinion on the issue.

 

The second that North looked up at them, Washington sighed in relief. He lowered his battle rifle and let his posture slouch just a little bit, looking back at the other man.

-

With every word, Wash hesitated running to kill the man himself, but North had it under control, and the tone of North’s voice was enough to keep him in place. Wash had never thought he would hear such a dark quality in North’s voice, and it was jarring. It was unpleasant to hear North be so dark, but Washington saw it as a byproduct of what had happened to them all. It wasn’t ideal, no; in fact he disliked it more than he could say. But, it made sense. It was incredible it hadn’t happened sooner, in Wash’s opinion.

-

York, on the other hand, didn’t understand it. He watched silently, gripping the wall much tighter than he probably needed to in order to remain standing. He jumped when North shot next to Wyoming’s head, and he was barely able to comprehend everything the two men were saying. He didn’t like thinking of Wyoming as heartless, and it was true that he didn’t hold a grudge against him or Maine for what happened.

 

From the moment North mentioned him in the conversation, York was unable to move, just like Washington. Wyoming really was an asshole, and proved it again in his dying moments. However, York didn’t understand _everything_ he’d said. York knew for a fact that North hadn’t slept with any of the other freelancers, and he couldn’t remember any freelancer that Wyoming had caused injury to. He completely forgot about himself, of course, in true York fashion.

 

York flinched again with the final two shots North fired. A shiver ran down his spine, but he blamed being inadequately dressed to be outside at night. When North’s helmet tilted up and at them, he immediately moved to walk towards his friend, to put his arms around the older man and tell him anything he needed to hear. Unfortunately, his run down the hallway caused the first two steps he took to be too painful, and he inhaled sharply while he clung to the wall once more.

 

Wash heard the sound and his eyes darted between both men. His hands shook slightly, because both of them needed each other in that moment, and he wanted to be there for both of them, in the other’s wake. He wanted to carry York back to his bed, force-feed him painkillers, and tell him that North would be fine. He wanted to look into North’s kind eyes and soothe the rage he had just displayed.

 

York muttered, “go to him,” very softly, and Wash glanced down at the little bit of blood coming from where he’d opened his stitches. It wasn’t a lot, truthfully, but it certainly appeared painful. He then very quickly closed the distance between himself and North. The entire outside of his leg was throbbing from the shards that he knew were there, but it was easy to ignore. After the various things Wash had been through, he realized that not caring about yourself at all made the pain less intense. It certainly wasn’t bad, either.

 

Wash didn’t say anything, but he put his arms around North’s middle, holding him much tighter than he could imagine. In the back of his mind, he realized it was the first time he’d gone out of his way to touch either of them since stitching up York. “Are you okay?” his voice was softer than the new, hardened Wash had sounded like. It was as if seeing the need to help North made all of the bad shit and the stupid shit go away, leaving only the man at the very core of his own being. And that man was worried about his friend.

 -

North was distantly aware of Wash moving towards him. He noticed the blood running down Wash's leg as he approached, the way he tried not to limp, and he was quick to close the distance between them and spare Wash the pain of more walking. He wasn't sure what he was feeling, the anger had drained from him so rapidly it had left him feeling empty, and a horrible numbness had spread through him.

 

"He-he hurt you," he said after the man threw his arms around North. He pulled off his helmet, throwing it to the ground before his arms circled Wash's shoulders, holding him close. "He hurt both of you. I couldn't-I wasn't going to let that happen. Not again." He was surprised the tears hadn't come, his voice felt thick but his eyes remained dry.

 

"I should have done more," he murmured. "I should have made it hurt more, should have made him suffer for the things he did and said but I...I couldn't do it."

 

He looked up, still holding Wash close, to the base. He could see York standing there, leaning against the wall, and how much of that had he heard? How much had he discerned from the conversation? Keeping his feelings hidden was the least of his worries at this point, but surely York would want to talk about what had been said. And what was North supposed to say? _Yeah pretty much every Freelancer thought we were banging at one point. Even my sister. And looking back I still wish we had._   No, that was absurd.

 

But there were bigger issues at the moment, and North pushed his worries aside to pull away from Wash. He had to get them inside, get them to safety, treat their wounds and make sure they were okay.

 

"He still managed to hurt you," he said miserably, looking down at Wash's leg. "You shouldn't be walking on that. Oh god, I'm sorry."

 -

When they pulled away, Wash took off his own helmet, so that North could see he wasn’t in a lot of pain. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me,” he quickly dismissed his own injury in order to address the other things North said. “You did everything you could do. You beat him.”

 

Washington knew that he had let his guard down too much. His thoughts were spinning. He wanted to be able to tell North he could always be there, that every time he and York disagreed, he could mediate for however long they needed, that he would always be there to hold him… but he knew he couldn’t. He needed to go a separate way from them. He needed to start distancing himself again. It was his fault North had to face Wyoming. Wash didn’t even know Wyoming was still working for command, but he wasn’t surprised. He had always been as much of a lone wolf as possible.

-

York couldn’t quite hear them, but he wasn’t listening. He was looking at the white armor on the ground behind the two men. He tried to think about everything he knew Wyoming had done and how dark North’s voice had turned. He tried to remember North disliking the British man during the project. North disliking anyone didn’t seem to have happened. Then again, York hadn’t been the most observant ever, especially during the project days.

 

He finally looked down at his side and grimaced at the blood he saw. That probably wasn’t the best thing that had happened. He let the pistol he had been holding drop to the ground once he turned the safety on, because holding it wasn’t ideal anymore. He stayed against the wall, wanting to help take care of North after whatever just happened.

 


	6. North

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> North - AgentBuzzkill  
> York, Wash - CaptainDynamic  
> yo my bad, guys. I work in retail, so the closer it gets to the holidays, the more I want to die when I get home instead of edit.

North noticed the sudden quiet that had overtaken Wash, and it worried him deeply. The last thing he needed was for Wash to think that Wyoming's appearance had been his fault, especially not when North needed his friends to stay close to him now more than ever. The territorial feelings inside of him hadn't died yet, and he was anxious to get inside and take care of Wash and York.

 

"Lean on me if you need to, okay?" he said to Wash. "Come on," North slowly headed for the base. He had no qualms with leaving the body out in the open, but he also had a feeling Wash would need to destroy it. He could do what he needed to, North figured. He'd already gotten whatever satisfaction he could out of the situation.

 

As York's face came into clearer view and North closed the distance between them, North began taking stock of York's condition. He was on his feet, which was a plus, but he was leaning heavily against the wall and there was blood spotting his shirt on his injured side. North wanted nothing more than to reach out and take the man into his arms, to tightly embrace him and refuse to let go for a long time, but the blood and the pain on York's face had him afraid of doing more damage.

 -

When he was close enough to reach out and touch him, North allowed himself to. Just a small brush of his hand over one of York's cheeks, cradling his face gently for a moment. "Are you okay?" was all he could ask, even if the answer "no" was staring him straight in the face. It felt like there wasn't much else for him to say.

 

Wash knew that North needed to care for others, and that’s the reason he gave himself for why he put his hand on the man’s shoulder as they walked back to York. He glanced at Wyoming’s corpse before they walked away. It helped to see that he was properly dead, and Wash just thought _Another Freelancer down. That’s probably for the best._ He needed to get communication logs from Wyoming’s helmet to see what his orders had been, to see who had sent him, if it wasn’t Command. He needed to figure all of that out, but he could do it tomorrow.

 

He should probably fix his injuries and make sure North and York were actually okay, even if North’s hand holding York’s face reminded him that the two were together. He didn’t focus on the fact that this still made him far more upset than he should be. He shouldn’t feel alone. He hadn’t been that close with anybody for a long time, and he didn’t know if he could let himself get that close to another person, not after everything he had been through. After he left North and York, he didn’t know if he had it in him to let himself care that much about anyone else.

-

North’s hand made York’s eyes look directly at the other man’s. He put on the best smile he could force, and just said, “Yeah, I’m fine. Are _you_?” He didn’t mean for it to sound accusatory or anything like that. He was concerned for North. He was annoyed at himself for not observing more during the project days. He didn’t know how Wyoming knew anything about North, and it was frustrating, because he wanted to be able to help. He didn’t know how to help when he didn’t know what he was helping.

 

York was doing a fantastic job of ignoring the pain in his side, but it was a lot harder when he took a small step in order to be just slightly closer to North. His eyes widened slightly, and his hand that was holding where it hurt had some blood on it. He didn’t want North to worry about him right now, though. They needed to focus on North. The tone in his voice when he spoke to Wyoming was different from anything York had ever experienced, and he’d seen North after a mission where everything went to shit. North needed to be able to talk about all of what just happened just as much as York needed to be there to hear it. “I might not be _fine_ ,” York said quietly as another shiver made its way down his back.

 -

"You should be in bed," North said trying to be stern. There was little heat in his words, he had no room for ire within him at that moment. He very nearly moved closer when York did, only to stop when he saw the flash of pain in the man's face. He looked down, and his hand dropped from York's face, moving instead to gently grasp at York's wrist and pull to reveal the blood on York's hand.

 

He'd managed to stare at Wyoming's corpse without blinking. He hadn't thought twice about the people he'd killed in increasingly brutal ways in Project Freelancer. But the sight of a smear of York's blood was enough to turn his stomach. He looked away quickly.

 

"We need to fix your stitches," he said. He didn't want to think about what had happened. He didn't want York to ask him about what had been said, didn't want to think about what would happen if he told the truth (as if lying was even an option, as if he could bring himself to lie to York). If he had to admit how much he'd watched York during those days on the MOI, how he'd been content to stay by York's side but a small greedy part of him would always want more, would always be jealous of Carolina and the fact that she commanded York's attention so effortlessly.

 

He had been so sure that he'd left those feelings in the past, but being so close and having Wash back had allowed him to slip back into old habits. He wasn't sure if he could handle that pining again though. He'd only barely managed to last time, and he was so afraid of saying or doing something he would regret. He just wanted to keep the people he cared about most close to him.

 

He looked from York in front of him to Wash beside him. Their recovery from this would be much shorter, but it would still put a dent in their plans to leave the base sooner rather than later. North had been plotting out possible places for them to go, but he hadn't settled on anything yet and whenever he brought up the subject nobody seemed to be very excited to join in the conversation. They had to settle on somewhere soon, but if this didn't put them all in a mood he didn't know what would, and he had a feeling it would be a while longer before they made any kind of decision.

 

"Come on," he said, continuing to let Wash lean on him as he tried to ease York away from the wall. "Let's get inside."

 -

When they reached York, Wash took his hand off North’s shoulder. He could walk okay, certainly better than Bloods Mcgee, anyway. He maintained his silence and thought about what his next move would be. He looked back at the white and red armor, filled with a few too many questions.

 

When North mentioned going inside, he found himself on York’s other side, avoiding eye contact. He absolutely did not need North telling him to take it easy. He just needed to help the others and forget about how much he cared about them.

-

York almost laughed when North said he should be in bed. It wasn’t like North wouldn’t have done the exact same thing in York’s position. York didn’t want to imagine what would’ve happened if North and Wash hadn’t been taking watch, if North hadn’t caught Wyoming before he got to the base.

 

He felt _nearly_ embarrassed when North took his wrist and saw the blood. He tried not to focus on the fact that North didn’t say whether or not he was okay, that he didn’t acknowledge the question. The number of things going on in the other’s mind worried York, especially since he had never been the best at reading other people. He figured that once his dumb stitches were fixed, he would be able to ask North questions.

 

He slowly took his weight off the wall, but he felt extremely shaky. He wasted no time in grabbing North’s arm with both of his hands. He looked up at the other man’s face and smiled just slightly. Even though he was learning that there was a lot about North he might not know, he didn’t care for a second. The other man was so caring and always concerned about York and Wash, and York knew it was past time he let North know that he was cared about just as much. He had missed seeing North in the recent days, and despite pain and whatever had just happened, it felt nice to hold onto North.

 

Seeing Wash on his other side was more than reassuring. Seeing Wash slowly easing more into himself from the hardened man he had first appeared as was very nice. York didn’t look at it that way, he just saw Wash being more himself and feeling more comfortable with them, which was probably the same thing.

 

“Let’s just… take it slow, yeah?” he asked the others, looking in front of them at the somewhat blown up hallway. He hadn’t seen past the smoke when he’d run out of the building. He glanced at Wash, knowing where he’d likely been when it went off, but he didn’t’ say anything.

 -

There was something secure in the way Wash and York both leaned into him, something that helped North feel grounded. There was a worry, deep in the back of his mind, that if he let them go they would drift away. And he would watch them go until they were so out of his reach there was no hope of getting them back. And maybe he kept his arm close to him, keeping York close to his side. And maybe he put a gentle hand on Wash's back, easing him along as they slowly worked their way through the ruined entrance to the base. If he did any of that, he told himself it was strictly for their benefit.

 

The explosion from the grenade had been relatively small, but the force of the blast had torn through the walls and floor, leaving strips of shorn Metal and chunks of missing stone in their way as they moved through the hallway. The air was thick with dust and North suspected that some of the Metal that had torn from the walls was what had ended up in Wash's leg. The carnage of the blast wasn't that big, and once they passed it it became considerably easier to guide Wash and York down the hallway towards their bedrooms. North was grateful that they were on the first floor, he couldn't imagine having to get up stairs in the condition any of them were in.

 

It was almost enough to make him laugh if the reality of it weren't so terrible; some of the best agents of Project Freelancer beaten down so viciously that they couldn't even fathom climbing a set of stairs in their current state.

 

He figured he would lead them to York's room and get the other man to lay down, and when they arrived he did just that. He helped Wash to sit in one of the chairs beside the bed and turned his attention to trying to help York lay down as painlessly as possible. Based on the looks from the other man North wasn't entirely successful, but at the very least he managed to get York to lie down. After the progress he'd been making toward a recovery, it hurt terribly to see York back in bed, pressing a bloody hand to his side, and if North ran a comforting hand through his hair a few times, well...York didn't say anything about it.

 

He looked to Wash then, at the armor the man still wore and the blood on his leg. "I can treat you in here or in your room," he said gently. "Either way you'll need to get that armor on your leg off."

 -

York was grateful that neither of the other men commented on the slow pace they moved at. He gritted his teeth as every step he took brought a wave of pain to his side. Truthfully, it hurt a lot less than it initially had, but since he had been getting better, it was still shocking enough to slow them down. The process of lying down probably hurt even more than sitting up had earlier. Once he was finally on the bed, he was able to breathe a little easier. North’s hand running through his hair felt nice, and he was too exhausted from whatever had happened to say anything immediately.

-

Wash watched the two and their closeness cemented the fact that he needed to distance himself from them again. It always felt like he was intruding. He couldn’t be angry with himself for so easily falling back into the ease of spending time with the two men. He was glad he had, and he supposed the memories would be nice for future nights when he couldn’t sleep.

 

He gave a tight nod to North at his words, and then said, “You should fix his stitches first, unless you want me to do it later.” He looked down at his armor and thought for a minute. He felt like he should leave them alone to talk. Wash assumed that York wouldn’t be as quick to understand North’s anger as he was. “I’ll make my way to my room, I think,” he informed North.

 

He still had a lot of thinking to do, anyway. Wash was certain that separating ways would be the best, and they could figure out where it was they were going and talk about the Wyoming stuff without thinking he was eavesdropping or intruding. They could finally talk after he’d watched them carefully avoid each other for days. It would be good for when he left and they’d only have each other. That thought didn’t sit right in his chest, though. It had felt so natural to talk to both of them, and he wasn’t entirely sure he was ready to leave all of it behind. Still, he knew he had to, and soon. He could do this.

 -

North’s eyebrows rose in surprise at Wash’s words, at how tense he’d grown in just the few minutes that they’d been in the room. “Are-are you sure?” he asked, hesitantly. He’d let his hand drop from York’s head and stepped back from the bed to strip the armor from his torso. He knew he’d want it out of the way if he was going to focus on fixing York’s stitches. “I can fix the stitches but I’d also like to take a look at your leg. Don’t feel like you have to go.”

 

He still felt antsy, like if Wash was away from him for too long he’d worry himself sick, and just the man being in the room where North could see him and confirm for himself that he was okay was enough. But he wouldn’t force Wash to stay if he didn’t want to, and if it meant North had to be uncomfortable…he’d do it. There wasn’t any question to that.

 

There were still some medical supplies in York’s room, leftover from the first time Wash had stitched him up and littering the bedside table. North checked to make sure everything he needed was there, and was pleased to find that it was. At least one thing had gone right that day.

 

“Do you think you can take off your shirt,” North asked York as he took his place at York’s injured side, “or would you rather just lift it up?” He guessed he could fix York’s stitches well enough even if he had to keep the shirt out of the way, but it would be easier by far to just have the shirt off entirely. He noticed for the first time that it was York’s Grifball shirt, and he wondered how York had managed to hold onto it since Project Freelancer had imploded. All things considered it was in pretty good condition, at least aside from the newly acquired bloodstains.

 -

Wash just gave a small nod, and once North turned away he stood up and made his way out of the room. He made eye contact with York, who saw his limp, but he left the room before anything could be said. When he got to his own room, he took his time to carefully remove his armor. It was nice to be able to focus on something. He winced when he finally got a look at the Metal lodged in his leg, but just began removing them one shard at a time. The longer he took to do this, the less time he had to feel inadequate with the others.

-

York looked down and saw red on the orange. “Man, this is my favorite shirt,” he said quietly, disappointed at the stain. He could get it out, but it was still a sad sight to see. York’s hand reached for the collar of his shirt before he thought better of it and tried to unstick the bloody part from his body first. “Uh, can you help me out?” York had to focus on his arms keeping his back off the bed, and he couldn’t carefully maneuver around the blood and hold himself up at the same time.

 

If York were one for analyzing anything, particularly feelings, he would be able to tell something was different for how he felt around North. He would be aware of what it really meant. Unfortunately, he couldn’t analyze for shit. He didn’t notice that North seemed to be so much more important now. Hell, he used to think he was being subtle with Carolina. That’s why pickup lines were the best idea, since they were straight to the point. It was easy for him to take for granted how much North did for him, and if he ever thought about it or realized this, he’d feel terrible about it.

 

He watched Wash go, feeling something in his stomach twist as he left the room. The last thing he wanted was for Wash to pull away from them now, not when they’d grown so close again in the past few weeks. He could only hope it was just temporary, that Wash just needed some time to himself in the wake of Wyoming’s reappearance, but something in him knew that Wash was closing himself off for good. The issue lingered in the back of his mind, even as he began caring for York.

 -

North helped peel the shirt from the wound, wincing a bit at having to tug slightly harder than he would have liked in order to free it from the blood. He slid the shirt up, trying to ignore looking too long at the skin that it exposed, at the way York’s chest was marred with scars but still seemingly perfect. Everyone in their line of work had their fair share of scars, and each scar had a story. Some were amusing, like the scar North had on the back of his right thigh from when he’d fallen out of a tree at age thirteen. Recently though, the only scars North seemed to be able to see were the ones left by the Meta. The flesh where his wounds had been once was now tender and pink, he knew within the next few weeks the color would fade and he’d be left with a deep, permanent reminder of what he’d been through.

 

He shook himself out of his thoughts, working on peeling the blood-soaked bandage from York’s side and depositing it in the trash can near York’s bed. Looking at the wound, he could see that three of the stitches had popped open, and he grimaced at the blood still welling up from the wound. He reached for the antiseptic wipes on the table next to him. “We do need to clean this again,” he said, ripping the package of the wipe open. “This isn’t gonna feel too good,” he warned before beginning to dab at the wound. He wished he could be gentler, but he knew it wouldn’t get properly cleaned if he was, and the prospect of York getting an infection was enough for him to try and keep the wound as clean as possible. His free hand rested on York’s hip, a reminder to keep as still as possible, and he found himself stroking the line of York’s hipbone with his thumb, trying to be as comforting as possible.

 

“While I do appreciate you trying to rush to my rescue,” North said, trying to keep his tone light, “maybe consider waiting until you’re not still hurt next time.” He looked up at York’s face as he worked. “And your armor would greatly improve your chances of survival if you did end up joining in the confrontation.”

 -

“Ew, gross,” York’s voice sounded much more amused than disgusted as he looked down at the wound. It looked a lot better than when he’d last seen it, and he made the mental note to thank Wash again. It wasn’t going to be the prettiest scar, but then again, when were scars considered nice? Sometimes he looked down and could remember the feeling of the blade shoved in his side and just how deep it had gone. Those were the times when he shuddered and quickly thought about other things.

 

He had to stop himself from trying to poke at it, but the desire was, in fact, there. York was not too excited about cleaning it. He was glad he hadn’t suffered the first time around. That shit was never fun. He hummed in order to stop himself from making any loud noise of pain at the strong stinging sensation. His abs tensed, and if it weren’t for North’s hand, he probably would have tried to jerk out of the way.

 

He couldn’t quite figure out why the words North chose to use bothered him just slightly. “Hey, you try taking the time to put it all on during a surprise attack,” he defended himself. “Doesn’t do any good to join a fight after it’s been lost… Though, it wouldn’t have mattered in this case.” To distract from the burning, he looked up at North’s face. York hesitated before he said, “If you… wanted to talk about all of that, I’m not exactly going anywhere soon.” He still couldn’t figure out what it was Wyoming would know about North and North’s desires, and that alone really bothered York. He wanted to know everything about the other man, and he wanted to be able to help him, to keep him from returning to the pure anger he’d displayed earlier.

 -

North looked back down when York mentioned talking about what had happened. He knew he should have seen it coming, that he should have been ready for York to ask questions. And now North had to come with a good excuse for what he'd done.

 

He used fixing York's stitches to keep himself from having to give an immediate response. Instead he worked, allowing his concentration to buy him some time to stay silent.

 

He could admit that maybe it would have been possible for him to handle that situation differently. That maybe some calm and rational thinking would have been good. But that anger would still be there, simmering and foaming up and boiling over, and no amount of yelling or killing could really satisfy whatever it was that lurked inside of him and made him so impulsive and angry.

 

"I mean," he said finally as he was preparing the needle and thread, "what's there to talk about? Wyoming was always a dick, he's had it coming for a while now." He shrugged, trying to appear casual.

 -

York occasionally tensed under North’s grasp, but once the cleaning stopped, he relaxed on the bed once more. He thought back to what Wyoming had said, and he thought of the worrying tone in both of the men’s voices. Wyoming’s was troubling because of how calm it seemed, and North’s because of the dark tone, obviously.

 

It felt uncomfortable having such a real conversation with North, and in a way it reminded him of some of their late night discussions aboard the MOI. “Well, there’s the fact that it sounded like he knew you better than anyone else… or how I’ve never seen you that angry before in my life, not even when we failed missions or anything else…And I guess I just didn’t know him being an asshole got to you that much.” York’s tone wasn’t too serious, but it was obvious that he meant what he was saying.

 

He almost felt bad for making North talk about it, but if they didn’t talk about it, they’d just continue the distance that they’d had just after North was injured and in the past few weeks, too. He was bothered by the fact that _Wyoming,_ of all people, seemed to know more personal things about North than he did.

- 

North could feel some of the anger again, not nearly as potent as before but still enough to twist his face into an expression of distaste. It had been a long time since he’d let his temper get the better of him so completely, and he’d even scared himself a bit. It didn’t change the fact that he had no remorse over the act, if he had to do it again he would do it exactly the same, and he was not going to feel guilty over protecting the two people closest to him.

 

Wyoming’s words were still echoing in the back of his head, a reminder that he’d been entirely obvious about his feelings toward York in those days, and he’d considered it a miracle that York hadn’t caught on (had probably been too busy watching Carolina to care). He had no idea how to tell York enough to satisfy his curiosity without also giving everything away, but he knew he had to say something. He got the feeling that York wouldn’t just let this go, and he supposed York had good reasons for that.

 

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he said gently, threading the needle. “He was an asshole. He hurt you. He was an asshole after hurting you. He said a lot of stuff that got under my skin, and maybe I took it too personally, but he also said stuff about you and I wasn’t happy about that. He came here to take Wash back, and if he’d known you were alive I don’t even want to think about what he would have done.” He steadied himself, prepared to begin fixing the stitches. At the first poke of the needle through York’s flesh he muttered a small apology. He was silent for a moment, focused on his work, before realizing he had something else to say.

 

“I’m sorry you saw me like that. I wish…I wish you hadn’t. But I’m not about to apologize for defending you and Wash. That’s just out of the question.”

 -

York understood why Wyoming had been killed. He was a complete asshole, yes. His orders were probably to hunt down Wash. But, that didn’t explain to York why North had been so angry. It didn’t explain why he brought up _Florida_ , either. It seemed like it would be mentioning South or Carolina to either of them, and that was the second comment North had made that brought to his attention that North wasn’t acting like North.

 

As he felt the needle go through, his muscles tensed again. He tried not to move, but his hands gripped the sides of the bed a little tighter than they had before. Injuries were the worst. He couldn’t even focus on the conversation, because that was also something he didn’t want to dwell on too much. Unfortunately, there really was a needle in his skin and he needed to have this conversation.

 

“You don’t need to apologize for anything,” York told him. No matter how confused he was, he didn’t think that anything North had done was wrong or terrible, he just wanted to understand it. He’d also never known North was still that mad about his eye. It almost felt nice to know that North was mad about that for him. It made sense that he was there to kill Wash, if York really thought about it. But, then, “Wait, what did he say about me?” He thought Wash and he had heard most of the conversation between the other two.

 -

North paused for a moment, realized that even when trying to be vague he’d said too much. He cleared his throat, shook his head a bit and tried to focus. “Nothing I’d like to repeat,” he said. “It wasn’t a compliment, okay?” And it truly hadn’t been. Reducing York to something North used solely for his own pleasure, as if North would ever think of someone like that, let alone his best friend...it had pushed him to his breaking point.

 

He’d brought up Florida because he knew it had always been a sore spot for Wyoming. He’d aimed to hurt at that moment, to remind the man that he wasn’t the only one with feelings for another Freelancer (if the things Wyoming possessed could even qualify as feelings). If things had turned out differently he might have even felt sympathy for the man at the loss of his partner. But as it was North couldn’t bring himself to care about it then, and he had no time to care about it now.

 

He was nearing the end of the stitches, glad to almost be done. The sooner he could check on Wash the better, and he was already getting antsy wondering what the other man was doing or if he needed anything. “I don’t know how much of it you heard,” he said quietly. “But what Wyoming said doesn’t matter. It’s not like any of it is true anyway.”

 -

His face took on a confused look, and York glanced down at the stitching process. He closed his eyes for a second, because staring at something close for too long usually left him with a slight headache. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss Delta in that moment, because the AI could have told him when he was mentioned in the previous conversation. He’d probably already be chattering on about one thing or another and how it related to the two of them.

 

York hesitated, and then asked, “Were you and Wyoming ever close? Like, before I joined maybe?” He looked at North’s hands as they made precise movements. “It just… sounded like he knew you so well,” he said a little quieter. He didn’t like the thought of Wyoming or anyone knowing things about North that he didn’t know. The man was his best friend, and he couldn’t even figure out what Wyoming had meant by what North ‘expected’ or whatever he had said. York found himself, once again, frustrated by his lack of observational skills.

 

For a minute, he thought that maybe it was a sniper thing. Maybe they had some agreement during their joint training to not discuss something, and Wyoming had breached that pact? He wasn’t sure. It had never been his job to be observant. His job was to go unseen and to get them into places. It could be argued that his job was opposite that of a sniper. Either way, York was mad at himself for not noticing anything during the project. If Delta was still there, he would probably know exactly what York was trying to remember, but Delta was gone. And York was honestly a little afraid of who he was without the AI, when it boiled down to just who _he_ was. He wasn’t entirely sure that just he could cut it anymore.

 -

North’s brow furrowed at the question. “I wasn’t in the program that long before you came along, I thought you knew that. No, I was never that close to Wyoming. The son of a bitch was just always very observant of everyone around him.” He tied off the stitches and hoped that they would last this time around. “He knew what would piss me off. He knew what would piss everybody off. It’s just what he did and I never really liked him for it.” He discarded the needle and remaining thread and grabbed a gauze pad and surgical tape, preparing to cover the wound.

 

Even in the days before York came along, when it was just him and South amongst strangers he called teammates, North had never felt right about Wyoming. The man very clearly had his own interests in mind, and very clearly did not care about anyone else’s interests. He was dedicated to the job and got it done quickly and efficiently, no muss no fuss and no feelings. North had both avoided him and envied him, at the way he could just throw himself into a mission without any regard for others, at how he always got his target and got the Director’s praise. He watched the developing partnership of Florida and Wyoming, at how they complimented and opposed each other in the best ways, and North found himself wanting the same thing. Someone to stand by his side and joke around with, to sit with in the mess hall, to stay up talking with on late, sleepless nights.

 

South had latched on to CT, and looking back North realized she’d been looking for any way to separate herself from him. She found her niche in field work and he found his behind a sniper rifle, and he’d been content to watch the others and see how they got along. In those days there were still quite a few states around, and he’d at least been friendly with most of them. But then more things started going wrong, more mistakes were made and more people were lost. North remembered that York had arrived the day after they lost Kentucky. He’d found himself drawn to the man’s humor (it hadn’t hurt that he was cute too) and suddenly he had the friend he’d been hoping for. And it had been just them for a while until suddenly Wash was there and they both somehow felt the obligation to take the new guy under their collective wing.

 

North covered the wound with gauze and taped it down, careful about applying too much pressure. He noticed that York had gotten considerably quieter, possibly lost in his thoughts. North wanted to reach for him, wanted to take his hand and bring him back down to earth, but as he moved to do so he stopped himself at the sight of blood on his hands. He pulled away instead, sitting back and looking at York. “I’ll be honest,” he said, “you were my first real friend in Freelancer. In the earlier days, we lost so many people. It was hard to form connections that you knew were unreliable. But then you came along and…the rest is history, I guess.”

 -

York either asked because he wanted to know the answer, or just because he wanted to know in general what things to look for, but he asked, “How did he know what would piss you off? I mean, you’re not the easiest guy to piss off. With all the shit I pulled back then, you should’ve been angry a lot, or at least mildly annoyed, but I was convinced it was impossible for you, I guess. I know I couldn’t think of one thing right now.” York liked to think he was too busy living to take the time to notice anything around him. It was great when he was just an infiltration specialist, but these days it might help to know a thing or two about a thing or two.

 

He could remember his first days in the project. He remembered being assigned his state name and meeting all of the other freelancers. He’d joined them for a late afternoon training session, where he’d gotten his ass kicked by Agent Carolina. After the fight, she offered him a hand up and took off her helmet. York was certain he had never seen eyes that green before. He could remember the way she admitted she’d gone pretty hard on him and they’d talked for a few hours. He later learned North had been sparring with South or maybe Wyoming when he had entered, but he’d been suggested to spar with Carolina, so he did. He’d been focused on his fight, and thought he’d lost terribly, but later was told by CT that he was the first person to get any number of hits on Carolina.

 

He had immediately appreciated the kindness that North showed off the bat, as if he’d never been in the army or anything. It was interesting to York, that they were on a ship full of hardened veterans or eager rookies, but North could still act the way he did. It was refreshing, and the first time he’d joked about North and seen the embarrassed face he made, York knew they would get along great.

 

York was a little proud of having been North’s first real friend in the project. He had always been personable and enjoyed spending time with others and making friends, but he had clicked with North so quickly. It was so easy to be around him.

 

“I suppose so,” he agreed with North, trying not to wince because of the pressure on the stitches from the gauze. He slowly pulled his right arm out of the shirt, and then pulled it over his head and off his left arm, which still didn’t want to rotate too far. He tossed the bloodstained shirt on the ground next to a wall; he’d pick it up later.

- 

North stood up after York’s response, heading to the sink on the far wall of the room. He washed his hands briskly, taking care to get the blood out from under his fingernails. He noticed his reflection as he did so, and as he took in the dark circles under his eyes, the mess of his hair and the blonde stubble from too many days without shaving, he thought he looked like he could use a year or so of sleep. Unfortunately that wasn’t an option. When he was satisfied with the cleanliness of his hands he pressed the plug on the drain down and began filling the sink with cold water. As he did so he realized he hadn’t answered York’s question yet.

 

He wondered how honest he could be; and even if he was honest, would York believe him? Would he think it was a joke? North met his own eyes in the mirror for a moment, but he didn’t like the look of his own face very much and turned away quickly to walk over to where York had thrown his shirt and scoop it up off the floor. When he returned to the sink it was full enough and he set the shirt in the cold water, figuring that if soaking and scrubbing it didn’t work there would be no saving it. And the sooner the stain was treated, the better the chances of getting the stain out. He wondered how long it had been since York washed it anyway, it was probably due for a heavy duty cleaning.

 

North steeled himself for his own words as he stared down into the sink. “He knew that insulting you would be the best way to piss me off, so he did it.” He didn’t want to say more, didn’t want to answer whatever questions he had a feeling York would have following the statement, but he felt as if he had no choice. Perhaps York had a right to know. Or perhaps North was tired of pretending like his own feelings didn’t matter to him.

 -

York’s hand tensed when North walked away from him, as if for some reason he didn’t want North walking away from their conversation. For a minute, he thought North wasn’t going to reply to him. He was quickly sucked back into the boredom and restlessness that being bedridden caused. Now, York didn’t mind sitting still and breathing every now and then, but he needed a reason to sit and be calm. Back aboard the MOI, yes, many times it had been watching Carolina train. But it had also been to listen to Wash retell a story dramatically with a lot of actions, or on their occasional poker or movie nights. It was calming, in that instance. Right now, however, he felt like he should be training, or walking, at the very least. He wanted to walk over and take the shirt from North and put his hand on the other man’s chin and force North to look at him. But, he couldn’t, so he just watched the back of his head.

 

When York glanced down to his own hand, he saw the blood, still. He looked at it for a second, and then looked back at North before his thoughts turned too morbid. He really didn’t like the constant silence that filled his head, now. He was used to hearing numbers and ‘fun’ statistical facts, plus the chatter about the Alpha as well as observations of those around them. Now, it was like crickets. York had a tendency to dwell on things more if he was left alone with his thoughts, and after what he’d been through, that wasn’t a particularly good thing.

 

Still, he was already forgetting the exact words, but he knew Wyoming had never mentioned him. This confused him even more, and he wished he could see North’s face or that the other man would stop being vague and just _talk to him._ He wasn’t big on feelings, but when it was this important, he’d deal with whatever happened.

 

“What are you talking about? He never mentioned me,” York’s confusion showed in his voice. “He just talked about you wanting someone and you sleeping with another Freelancer,” York added, “which I honestly thought I would’ve known about, but, hey, good for you, man.” He tried not to sound upset about not knowing. That, and North knew full well that the person _he_ used to pine for didn’t give him the time of day.

 -

North leaned against the sink, gripping the edges tightly. He didn’t think he could force himself to look at York, not if he was going to tell him to truth. Not if he was going to be direct about it.

 

He thought of the innuendo thrown at him on the MOI, both from the other Freelancers and York himself. It was always a joke, how much time they spent together. How North was so quick to defend York. How if one of them was needed they could probably be found with the other. It was always something to laugh at. Because it could never be serious, could it? North could never seriously consider his feelings for York because any relationship they had ended up as a punch line. And it had only hurt more to see York laughing along, to force himself to laugh because if he didn’t it might look like he took the jokes seriously, like he might actually have those feelings.

 

South had always told him to grow a pair and—in her words: “suck his dick already”—but when he told her to tell CT how she felt it usually shut her up. _The Dakota twins_ , he’d thought to himself, _just mention their unrequited crushes and you could easily take them down. They’ll be too busy moping to do anything_.

 

He could never have the kind of relationship that he’d wanted with York, and he thought he’d come to accept that. But being isolated with him for so long, without the jokes or the pressure of the leaderboard or the worry over if the side they were fighting on was the good one, it all had him wishing that things were different. It was a vicious cycle, where he’d get his hopes up and come crashing down again every time, and he was just so tired of going through it.

 

He pushed himself off away from the sink, standing away from the bed and looking anywhere but York’s face. “You’re not wrong,” he said, feeling sick. “I didn’t sleep with anyone in Freelancer. But he…” he stopped, closed his eyes and braced himself. “He called you my goddamn bed warmer, York. That’s all they ever joked about. Us sleeping together.”

 -

York’s initial reaction was to laugh and make a joke, but he stopped before he said anything, because of the look on North’s face. For some reason, he still felt the desire to stand up and look in North’s eyes, as if being closer to them and seeing them would help him to understand whatever emotion it was in them. If only distance was the reason he couldn’t understand.

 

Well, they _had_ spent a lot of time together on the MOI, and that was certainly true. And, yes, York could remember a few jokes here and there that were made in a similar fashion. But, he remembered North laughing along. He remembered finding it a little weird how often Wyoming would joke about it, but he and Butch were very open about their sex lives, and, well, it was clear they thought about it a lot. Still, he couldn’t remember North ever complaining about the jokes, or commenting on them at all, really. York had usually joked that Wyoming flattered him for considering his sex life with so much thought, or that not all the handsome men on the ship were fucking.

 

York’s head was tilted to the side in thought. It seemed North hid himself a bit more than he had ever thought. “Oh, I mean…” York had to find the right words, “They made those jokes and comments all the time. It never bothered you before.” York really thought he’d known North and his reactions to those jokes. He assumed that North was fine with it, since they both seemed to enjoy the other’s company. York didn’t understand.

 -

North hadn’t been aware that he’d hoped so much for York to understand, and the disappointment that settled in the pit of his stomach was bitter and heavy. He finally looked at the man’s face, trying to smile and knowing he was failing miserably. “Yeah,” he said quietly, and if there was a tremor in his voice he ignored it. “Sure, they never…yeah.” The room was suddenly too small. York’s eyes on him burned and he desperately wanted to be anywhere else. But for whatever reason he still felt like he owed an explanation to York.

 

“They always joked about it,” he said with a half-hearted shrug. “You joked about it too. Why would I let it bother me? Why let it show when I can just go along with it?” He ran a hand through his hair, felt himself breathing faster and gaining momentum in his words. “It didn’t bother me, not for a long time, but eventually the more I thought about it the worse it made me feel and when Wyoming said that I just—I snapped, okay? Because at the end of the day it was just one big joke to so many of them. And I wouldn’t expect you to get it, really I wouldn’t.”

 

He didn’t want York to blame himself. Quite the opposite actually, North knew he was to blame for letting his emotions get the better of him. He focused on his breathing for a moment, trying to calm himself, looking down at his own feet. When he managed to compose himself a bit he looked back up at York. “I-I’m sorry, Ryan,” he said sadly. “I’m just…sorry for all of this.”

 -

As North spoke, York's face grew expressionless. Or the emotion it showed was unable to be explained. He felt like the universe's biggest idiot for not noticing that it bothered North so much. Sure, he kept it hidden because everyone else would laugh, but that made it worse. York thought they had been close enough that he would have known when North was hurting. He was, apparently, wrong.

 

He slowly pushed himself so that he was sitting up, even though he wished he could be standing, putting his arm around North and helping them both to breathe a little easier.

 

York spoke slowly, his words cautious, "You don't have anything to apologize for. I'm sorry for not realizing that it bothered you, I-" the wheels in York's head were turning, and it finally seemed to click. A very soft "oh" escaped his mouth as he began to process the information.

 

With so many thoughts suddenly occurring to him, York found himself unable to find one, and he was beyond thought. He was beyond the ability to focus on anything. His expression went almost blank, and his right hand absent-mindedly scratched the back of his head, his fingers pausing for a second on where his neural implant was. He brought his hand in front of himself again, still unable to actually process any of it.

 

"Alex, I-..." He honestly had no clue what he was going to say. His vision blinked into focus and he looked up at North, as if looking at him would make it all make sense and would answers all of his questions. And even though he had absolutely no clue what to say or do to fix the situation, to make North look less worried and stressed, he found that just looking at North was enough to help him breathe easier.

- 

North bit his lip and shook his head. He could hear the caution and confusion in York’s voice, and the last thing he wanted was for York to blame himself for not noticing North’s feelings. He’d kept them hidden for a reason, and a part of him wondered if he could still keep them hidden after this. When York moved to sit up North wanted nothing more than to be next to him, to wrap his arm around York and let the other man do the same to him. He wanted so badly to lean into York’s touch, to press himself close to the man and let his presence calm him down. But he couldn't let himself to move. It didn’t feel right, not like this, and he was so nervous about hurting York further.

 

They needed each other, that much was clear, but North wasn’t sure how much longer they could go on if he didn’t tell York the truth. He also wasn’t sure if telling York would just end up ruining what they had even faster. And of course there was Wash to think about, and North didn’t want to even consider those thoughts at the moment, not with everything else happening.

 

They had to let themselves heal, he decided. They just had to get better and get moving and they could put all of this behind them. And maybe things would be strained for a while, but they would improve. They’d get comfortable with each other again and be able to return to laughing and joking and calling each other names. They could sit around and talk about nothing and it would be good, it would be safe, and North would return to pushing everything back because it was easier. It was easier and cleaner and he was seeing what happened when he showed too much of himself and he didn’t like this awkwardness and pain and discomfort.

 

“You didn’t do anything,” he said, looking down at his hands clasped in front of him. “It’s…it’s really not your fault. I just care too much.” He gave a wry smile, and wondered if it hid the sadness he could still feel. “South always said I did. Said I would get myself hurt by caring about too many people. Maybe she was right.”

 -

York really didn’t like seeing this look on North’s face. He didn’t like seeing the superficial smiles or seeing the suffering in North’s blue eyes. It made it almost impossible for York to even put on a fake smile, and he wasn’t trying now. He should have been able to read his friend better, should have paid better attention back then. York wondered if Wash knew how much it bothered North.

 

He didn’t like it when North was looking down, it didn’t suit the other soldier to be so reserved. “No, you-I mean, yes, you care a lot, but that’s one of your best qualities, and you’re already a great guy to start with. Having feelings doesn’t mean it’s your fault. It just means that other assholes should be careful with what we say.” York was looking at North, willing the other man to meet his eyes. “We should’ve known not everyone is okay joking about sex,” York added. Because, somehow, in his mind, it was just that North was embarrassed by the sex part of it. He couldn’t once remember North talking about sex, now that he thought of it. York couldn’t begin to imagine how North must have felt, and that made him feel worse.

 

York gave up trying to look at North and looked down again. The blood on his hand had dried. He shivered just a little bit, but didn’t say anything. He wondered if Wash knew about all of this. Wash had always been much better at reading people than York had been. He’s certain that’s why the kid had gotten on with Maine. Maine needed someone who could understand him without words, and Washington had been perfect at that. For some reason, York felt like having Wash with them would help make both of them feel a little more at ease.

 -

North looked at the blood on York’s hand, at how it had turned dry and dark. He glanced up but York was already looking away, and he wondered why York had been so quick to assume North’s problem had been with the sex part of the jokes and not the sex with York part. North didn’t think he’d ever said anything about not liking sex. And while he’d known people who weren’t into the act, he was not one of those people. But there had only been one Freelancer he’d even wanted to ben intimate with. He guessed he could have participated more in the swaggering talks of past lovers that came up a few times in the locker rooms. But he didn’t think that being private about his sex life meant that he didn’t have one.

 

North turned back to the sink, bending down to rifle through the cabinet underneath it until he found some washcloths. The past occupants of the base had kept their rooms relatively well-stocked and it made North feel a twinge of sadness whenever he came across a personal effect left behind, like the necklace he’d found in his room’s bedside table or the small bag of makeup that he had to push aside under York’s sink to get to the towels. It reminded him of the thing he’d left on the MOI, the pictures still in his locker and his room. He found himself wishing he had those on his quieter nights.

 

He stood up, washcloth in hand, and ran it under the tap for a moment to dampen it. He made his way back to the side of York’s bed, sitting down and taking York’s hand in his own. He rubbed the skin gently with the washcloth, watched as the white fabric became splotched with dark reddish-brown. He tried not to think about the warmth of York’s skin in one hand in comparison to the cold washcloth in his other. He didn’t think of the pulse he felt gently thumping under York’s wrist as he turned his hand over to wipe at his palm and between his fingers. He simply concentrated on the act, methodically trying to wipe away as much of the blood as possible.

 

“It wasn’t about the sex jokes…” he began, hesitating after only a moment. He had no idea if what he was about to say would end well or not, but he’d already begun the sentence. He pressed on. “It was about…about who was in them. The jokes were always about us.”


	7. Wash II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> North - AgentBuzzkill  
> York, Wash - CaptainDynamic

If he were asked about it, York would say he doesn’t hold any value to objects. He would say he didn’t need a physical reminder of any point of his life, or that it was unnecessary. That didn’t stop him from flicking his lighter open and closed late at night, just so his hands had something to do.

 

York looked up at North when he approached to clean the blood from York’s hand. He didn’t say how much he appreciated it, or how nice it felt to have North’s hand keep his in place. His hands usually wanted to fidget, but it was still in North’s grip. North had always had a calming effect on him, from the beginning. York tried not to show stress whenever he felt it, but after enough incomplete missions and lectures from the Director, it was sometimes hard not to feel it. But, when North was nearby, York had always found it easy to forget about the dumb stuff.

 

When North spoke, York felt like he’d been punched in the chest, but he had no idea why. He didn’t know why North’s words made him feel like dirt, but they did. He didn’t think about his actions, but he pulled his hand away from North’s, though it still had some red on it. He looked way from North and his voice hardened just a little bit, when he said, “Well, then, I’m sorry that the thought of sex with me is so repulsive.” He did a very good job of hiding the hurt from his voice, which he attributed to years of practice on the battlefield.

 

York had kissed boys before. Well, two, and he was very drunk when it happened. He almost didn’t remember it happening, but people assured him it had. He didn’t deny sexual attraction, especially when he was drunk and finally past the stage where he was amused or thoughtful. It was the stage where he would take literally any dare issued to him, no matter what. When he’s completely shitfaced, he would do almost anything if someone challenged him.

 

York had never considered his attraction to men, because he’d never actually thought about it. He wasn’t great at identifying what his feelings meant ever, so new, inexplicable feelings were unthinkable. That’s why it didn’t even cross his mind that he might care about North a little bit more than he thought, or North might care about him more.

 -

North hadn't really come to terms with his sexuality until he was well into college. He'd watched South explore herself and had been happy to accompany her to bars, make sure she was okay. But it wasn't long before he started going on his own, and figuring himself out amongst a string of boyfriends and hookups. By the time they were in the military he was comfortable enough with himself. It didn't seem necessary to make a big deal about who he liked, he wasn't as open about it as most but it's how he preferred things to be.

 

York pulled his hand out of North's so suddenly that it made him look up in surprise, and the anger in his voice was enough to make North's eyes widen in shock. He realized suddenly that his words had come out all wrong, and he immediately wanted to apologize, to backtrack, to do anything to stop York from looking at him like that.

 

But he realized in that moment that he had a way to get out of confessing his feelings to York. He could apologize for how blunt it had been, but he didn't have to take it back. And maybe it wasn't the best way to do it, maybe if he came clean he would save them both a lot of trouble, or he could get himself to stop putting more meaning than there was behind every touch. Maybe if York tried to put space between them for a while, things would get better.

 

So, North sat back and looked down at the dirty washcloth in his hands. "I-I'm sorry," he said quietly. He didn't want to see York's face. He didn't want to feel this tightening in his chest. He stood up, moving to the sink and leaving it on the edge. He'd have to come back later to get the shirt out of it, but he couldn't stand to be in that room any longer.

 

"I should-I need to check on Wash," he said, not trusting how his voice was wavering. He spared York one last glance, trying to keep his face neutral. He really felt terrible for lying, and he couldn't help but ask himself if it would all be worth it, but he knew he couldn't admit the truth now. Not after that.

 -

North’s apology stirred some extra wave of feelings that York couldn’t understand. His hand formed a fist at his side, and he looked down. He didn’t want to look up and see any trace of the expression on North’s face, and he didn’t know if he’d be able to suppress the excess of emotions racing through him. If he weren’t injured, he’d probably go for a run right now, but he was trapped in bed again, confined in a small space with nothing but his thoughts. Phenomenal.

 

He assumed North left after saying he needed to check on Wash, and he almost felt relieved. Part of him was glad he didn’t have to look North in the eye, but the other half wanted North to come back and explain whatever these emotions were that he was feeling, because it was difficult to discern.

 

When he really got down to his thoughts, he found himself left with more questions than answers. If he was so bothered by the _idea_ of sex with York, then how did he actually feel about their friendship? He wondered if it was a pride thing, if North thought York actually slept around like a teenager, and being associated with that was what bothered him. No, North had known York for all of his time in Freelancer, and he’d known York pined after Carolina that whole time. He knew York's personality was 75% for show. York was pretty sure that North was the only witness to when a very drunk Florida offered to sleep with York and he had declined, telling him Wyoming wasn’t busy that night, just to get Florida to leave and stop touching him. He wondered if North was staying with him out of obligation, either because of the project or because he’d saved North’s life. North had saved his, too, but he knew North, of all people, wouldn’t ever see it that way. York felt guilt at the possibility that North was forcing their friendship. He wondered if the calm he felt around North was all from forced emotions. He wanted to know what it was about himself that made him so damn repulsive.

 

York closed his eyes, willing the headache to go away. He wished that his brain wasn’t silent except for the questions. He wished that he could understand why it felt like ropes were wrapped around his chest or that the questions he had weren’t so confusing. York wished any of it made sense, but it didn’t. So, he continued asking questions he couldn’t answer and trying not to fidget too much in bed. He never thought he'd miss Delta's constant chatter.

-

Wash had been pretty productive in the time he had been alone. He had pulled all of the shards of Metal from his leg and cleaned the injuries. He had almost finished wrapping his leg, too. After the burning had subsided, the injury wasn’t even that bad. He had little cuts and whatnot from mid-calf to his hip, but only three places where Metal had sunk in deep enough to be considered more than scratches.

 

His thoughts were mostly filled with reassuring himself that they didn’t need him. They had each other, so really him staying there was just getting in the way of them healing. He was a broken, shitty reminder of a failed military project. Whether or not they knew it, he felt every scar and fracture from the project every other night he fell asleep. He had seen things they would never fully understand and felt every failed mission a hundred times worse than anyone else.

 

Keeping him around would be like keeping a picture of a sad time in a broken picture frame. It would only make them feel bad, and they might want to help fix him, but once he looked decent enough, he’d be forgotten and placed aside. He didn’t want to bring them down, and he _couldn’t_ take himself down so low. He needed the distance. He deserved to be by himself, because he was broken into too many pieces, fragmented into who he used to be and the ashes of anyone he might have been. York and North would be able to heal and move on if he wasn’t there, and if there was a chance for anyone to get better, he knew it would never be him. They deserved it, too. They deserved a little bit of happiness. That was too much of a fantasy for Wash.

 

He looked up when he felt movement and gave a grunt in greeting, and then looked down to finish wrapping his leg with gauze. He couldn’t let himself get any more comfortable with them. He told himself it would hurt more later, for all of them.

 -

North left the room, but only made it halfway to Wash’s room before breaking down. His back was pressed against the wall and he couldn’t seem to stand anymore. He slid down, one arm wrapped around himself clutching at his side while his other hand covered his mouth. He was having trouble breathing. His eyes burned.

 

He’d been wrong. He’d been so, so wrong. Telling York the truth would have never ended up like this, even the worst rejection wouldn’t have hurt as much as the shame and regret that raced through him, scalding like fire. If there was any way for them to recover their friendship now, North would never have a chance at making it more. He’d resigned himself to never getting what he wanted and he’d made certain that it would never happen and he wasn’t sure he’d ever hated himself so much for causing York so much unnecessary pain. When he thought of the look on York’s face, of the sound of his voice, it made him feel sick.

 

He wasn’t sure how long he’d sat on the floor, trying to regain control over his breathing and the wetness threatening to escape from his eyes. The thoughts came in waves, the accusations and self-deprecations, and he closed his eyes and let them wash over him. It was nothing less than what he deserved, after all. He didn’t deserve a friend like York. He wasn’t sure he deserved anyone. He cared too deeply but was too scared to say anything about it, and now his cowardice had hurt someone he loved.

 

When it seemed like he could stand upright again he gathered himself up off the floor. Both arms were wrapped around him now, holding himself together, and he felt like if he let go now he might just break apart where he stood. He made his way to Wash’s room, stood in the doorway and watched as the man cared for his own injuries. He wondered how routine this had become for Wash, to patch himself up and sit alone in the aftermath of an injury. He wondered if Wash missed having someone to comfort him, or if he’d changed so much and gotten so used to loneliness that he didn’t mind it anymore. The thought of that sent another wave of pain through North, at everything his friend had to go through, and he wanted to be able to comfort him.

 

The wordless, unfamiliar greeting Wash gave caught North off guard. He’d thought that the other man was opening up to them more, had started getting comfortable around them again, but apparently he’d been wrong. He was getting a lot of things wrong now. He already expected little to come from the conversation, but if Wash turned him away now then North would have nowhere to go but his own room and he wanted so badly to not be alone. “Hey,” he said, his voice breaking a bit. He cleared his throat before continuing, “how do you feel?”

 -

Wash’s gaze shot back up at North at the tone he heard in the other man’s voice. Unlike the one-eyed idiot next door, Wash was quite good at picking up on social queues. He heard something off about North’s voice, and his first instinct was to figure out what it was in order to fix it. He then remembered that he shouldn’t let himself get too close, nor should he let them get close to him. Still, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to help a little bit… fix one thing before he left.

 

He still spoke with his rough, I’ve-seen-stuff voice, when he replied, “Fine.” He hesitated to continue, but then added, “How are the both of you?” He wondered for a second whether North would even let him in, or if it was just their relationship problems, or he’d think he was ‘burdening’ Wash with whatever was making him feel bad. It was as if North didn’t understand that anything that made his voice break was important enough to be talked about. Wash ignored that thought and finished wrapping his leg.

 

He looked up, willing North to let him at least help with one thing, maybe fix one small problem to make up for the ripple-effect of brokenness he’d left behind himself. Or maybe that was the Alpha… well, they nearly had the same past, now. Wash was blurring the lines more and more these days. The small part of him that still wanted to hope for the best, the part that wanted to stay with North and York, wished for someone to remind him of who he is. He knew North and York shouldn’t have to handle that, though. They had each other; there wasn’t room for him and his myriad of problems.

 -

North stepped a bit further into the room, still not feeling entirely welcome, but he took Wash not immediately asking to leave as a good sign. He was a bit confused at Wash asking how both of them were. Did they appear to be that inseparable that it was assumed one would always know how the other was feeling? If only that were true, North thought. All of this could have been dealt with a long time ago.

 

While he didn’t want to bother Wash with his problems, especially ones that were all his own fault anyway, he knew that if the other man was going to stay with them he had a right to know about what was going on. He at least deserved some explanation for why York wasn’t talking to North (and probably wouldn't be for a while). North thought it was almost cruel how his mind had almost instantly started coming up with possible ways York could act now. Almost none of them were good. It wasn’t quite to the point of flat-out asking North to leave yet, but he had a feeling it was getting there.

 

“It, uh, it just has to do with some stuff that Wyoming said. About York.” North looked up and met Wash’s eyes. “I’m assuming you heard it?” He wasn’t sure how he was going to explain everything. Just thinking about it again made his chest feel tight and he had the sudden urge to rush back to York’s room and apologize profusely. He’d wanted to help Wash with whatever was on his mind but instead here he was, unloading his problems onto the other man as if he didn’t already have a mountain of issues to deal with. North was starting to wonder how anybody put up with him.

 -

Because North didn’t give an answer to how both of them were, he assumed ‘not great'. With how hesitant North was, Wash was reminded that he wasn’t exactly trustworthy anymore. It reminded him of the way everyone spoke to him after Epsilon. For the first week he’d been completely awake, he thought people were treating him that way due to his fragmented history. It was only after a doctor came in and called him ‘David’ that he remembered he wasn’t the Alpha. People had treated him like he was completely nuts, just because an AI had killed itself in his brain. The worst part is he didn’t really blame Epsilon. If he was left with nothing but the memori… well, he understood Epsilon; he didn’t want to think about it anymore, not after he started sympathizing.

 

Wash was always pleased at the chance to think about anything other than what had happened. However, it did bother him to see North so upset. North looking upset was definitely not something Wash wanted to continue. He kept his eyes on the man and scooted over on the bed, leaving enough room for North to sit next to him. He wished he knew what to do to make North trust him, think of him as anything other than some crazy guy. He wondered for a minute what emotion he would even feel if he allowed himself to do that anymore, but the thought quickly left him.

 

He had clearly heard what Wyoming said, but he didn’t understand where the problem was. His voice continued to sound a little too rough and a little too low for the man it came out of, “Are you upset that Agent Wyoming felt no remorse for injuring York’s eye?” He thought back to the conversation, and that was the only thing he could imagine North had trouble with. North, the guy with more care in his pinkie than Wyoming had in his entire body. The two snipers were very different men, and Wash had always known that. He had never thought about it until now, though. He attempted to joke, but his tone probably stopped his comment from being funny, “I mean, I’m pretty sure you didn’t want to hear how that knock knock joke was going to end.” He just knew people were sometimes reassured by joking natures. It's why York made friends quickly back onboard the MOI.

- 

North was a thrown off at the sudden change in Wash's voice. There was a detachment there, like he was willing to discuss things but wouldn't really care about them. It was just a bit unsettling for North, but he had to remind himself that Wash wasn't the same person he'd known for most of Project Freelancer. No matter how much he tried to make Wash feel comfortable, the man still had things happen to him that North couldn't even imagine.

 

He knew he'd been lucky to receive Theta. The AI was calm and kind (and, he'd learned later, all of the trust left in the Alpha). He couldn't imagine what Wash had gone through with whatever Epsilon was in his head, and, while he did feel bad about it, he certainly didn't think any less of the man for it. Wash had been through a lot, probably more than any of them had, and North would have been more surprised to see him come out of it completely unscathed. But he wasn't crazy, that much was true in North's eyes. He was a survivor.

 

When Wash scooted over, he slowly made his way to the bed, sitting down but still keeping his arms around himself, trying to make himself smaller. He knew he probably looked ridiculous, though, as he was the tallest one out of all three of them.

 

He tried to chuckle a bit at Wash's guess. "I was mad at that," he said, "and I certainly don't think I wanted to know how that joke ended. But that's not it." He paused, wondering if telling Wash would be a good thing after all. If the man would tell him he was being stupid. Or worse, that of course York didn't feel the same, why would he ever feel the same? North had never known Wash to be cruel, and he still didn't think Wash had it in him, even after what he'd been through. So he pressed on. At least one person deserved to know the truth.

 

"It had to do with, uh. With what he said about York being my...my bedwarmer. It was always a joke, wasn't it?" He looked at Wash, hoped the man would look back at him. "That York and I were always together. That York and I were stupidly in love and having sex whenever we could find a chance to. If one of us was late to something we always got looks as if everyone knew the real reason we weren't on time. When York started spending so much time with Carolina, South asked me if I was jealous. But it was always a _joke_."

 -

Washington considered North’s words. He didn’t think he sounded any different, but he didn’t think often about the sound of his own voice. He spent so long trying to forget other voices, ones that screamed, ones that whispered, that he had forgotten to remember the good ones, like North’s. Even when he sounded upset, North’s voice was still calm, the only time it wasn’t was with Wyoming earlier. Wash found it was difficult to stay closed off from North when he spoke.

 

He looked at North when he spoke, resorting back to the habit of appearing like he was normal and that everything was fine. They never would’ve let him on active duty if they knew that he knew what they did. He would’ve been their prisoner forever. He thought after South had shot him he’d be done for, but luckily they'd still needed him.

 

Wash didn’t say that he was 90% sure the Director was technically responsible for York’s eye. He didn’t mention the nights and days he’d seen North looking at York, even just observing from a distance, when he first got injured. Carolina had been there, if Wash recalled correctly. So, North had been pretty far away. He assumed that the idiots had finally gotten to speak to each other, maybe North helped York understand what his feelings had meant, and that they were now together. Maybe York disguised it by asking North to help explain an emotion to Delta, but it was the emotions he’d so obviously had for North for so long. Wash stopped thinking about the many ways they could have gotten together. It was a little too painful for him.

 

Wash’s rough voice spoke up, “Are you upset that your relationship is something people joked about? Because, I can assure you the only reason Agents Wyoming and Florida were never joked about was because people feared what Florida would do to them if he heard. I don’t think anyone actually _thought_ your relationship was a joke, though.” Wash still looked at North, perhaps appearing too calm for all that had happened in the last day.

 -

North was comforted by the calm in Wash's voice, and just being in the presence of the man was helping him relax. His head still felt like a jumble of feelings and thoughts, all tangled up and trying to get out at once. At the very least he managed to force his arms back down, but even then he was still wringing his hands together in his lap.

 

"That's the thing though, isn't it?" he asked sadly. "They joked about it so much that even if we were together we wouldn't have been taken seriously. And even if I could have held York's attention for ten seconds with Carolina around, he would have always thought I was joking. Even..." he paused, unsure why he was telling Wash this. He didn't want to just dump all of this on Wash, but at the same time he felt like if he didn't tell somebody it would just continue to hurt him.

 

"Even now," he continued. "If I told him how I really feel he'd...he'd think I was kidding. He's never thought of me like that, I know he hasn't, or if he has he's decided he doesn't care. And I'm fine with that, really; I can take it." Even as he said that he knew he was lying, but he figured the sooner he tried to make himself believe that the better. "But now I don't even want to know what he thinks."

 -

Wash glanced down at North’s hands and had the urge to hold them in his own, so that he stopped moving them. The movement didn’t bother Wash, but he knew a nervous habit when he saw one. His hand almost immediately went to close around North’s, but he caught himself, so it just appeared to twitch slightly. He couldn’t get close to them, not again.

 

A small wave of understanding crashed into Wash when he realized the other two former Freelancers were **_not_** in a relationship. He could’ve sworn… well, this was news to him. North and York, in Wash’s experience, were the two that people knew would always get together, and were just waiting for it to happen. They knew one day York would stop looking at Carolina like she lit the sky with starts, and then he would realize how much he cared about North, how much North cared about him. It was always just a matter of time. Wash was pretty certain Wyoming and Gamma had a bet going about how Carolina would finally snap and make York wake up.

 

It hadn’t even occurred to Washington that the two men were stupid enough to never discuss their feelings for each other. Then again, the last time Washington had spoken seriously about his feelings was probably during the project, when he voiced his concerns with missions and _to this day_ he still didn’t know what happened to Georgia. Still, ever since Epsilon, Wash sometimes had trouble discerning his feelings from Alpha’s. He continuously had stop thinking of their similarities. He’d put it pretty far from his thoughts since he had started to understand Sigma’s actions, but the thoughts were coming back to him now. He was content, however, to simply push them farther away to deal with at a later time.

 

Washington took a few seconds to simply gather his thoughts before he replied to North. “So you think that if you tell York how you feel, he’ll think it’s a joke?” Part of him wanted to hit the back of North’s head hard enough for him to realize how stupid that was. The other part of him simply wished that an honest conversation was all it would take for them to accept him. He knew that was too ridiculous, though. “Even though he’s very stupid sometimes, it is possible that he just doesn’t know what he’s feeling. Have you considered that? And if you asked him to take something seriously, I guarantee he would do so immediately.” Wash cleared his throat and reminded himself that no amount of words could ever explain himself to the both of them. Their situations were entirely different. He looked into North’s deep, blue eyes, which seemed to be constantly filled with emotion, the look in his own eyes hard and daring North to challenge him.

 -

At the suddenly intense look in Wash's eyes North looked down at his hands. Maybe at one point it would have been that easy, but now York thought that North couldn't even stand the thought of him in any way other than friendship. "I may have fucked that up a bit," he murmured, ashamed of himself and the way he'd handled the situation. He was normally cool under pressure but at that instance, with the potential for him to ruin everything in a single moment, he'd cracked. And the worst part about it was that he'd still managed to screw everything up.

 

"I may have just told him that I didn't like all of the jokes about having sex with him," he said, and he could still feel Wash's gaze on him, insistent and maybe even a bit angry. "And of course he assumed I was upset with the sex part about it, and when he said he was sorry that the idea was so repulsive to me I...I didn't argue with him." He looked over, not willing to look up in Wash's eyes yet and staring at his chest. It was refreshing to see the man out of his armor, to remind himself that underneath his hard exterior a small part of the Wash he'd known still lurked. North had seen glimpses of him over the past few days, but they'd started growing fewer and further between as Wash started closing himself off again and it worried North to no end.

 

"I don't even know if he wants to talk to me anymore," he said miserably. "I-I pretty much insulted him and left the room. If he even still wants to be friends with me, what'll he think if I try to bring it up again?" His voice rose into an imitation of himself. "Oh yeah sorry for making it sound like I was grossed out by the thought of us together, turns out even in Freelancer I've really been able to not do much besides think about it and when you asked me about it I was so afraid of what you'd think that I lied to you?" He shook his head. "No, he'd never believe me now. I've ruined everything now."

 

He wasn't sure where all of his words were suddenly coming from, but he guessed that he wanted to take advantage of having someone willing to listen to him. Still, he closed his mouth abruptly, not wanting to push Wash away with his problems. He truly didn't know what he would do if the other man left, wouldn't let himself think about it. He was still nervous after Wyoming's reappearance, still wanted to keep York and Wash close to him and reassure himself that they were all alive and together. He wanted to reach out and take Wash's hand, but he didn't want to make him uncomfortable, so his hand continued to fidget in his lap.

- 

Wash listened carefully and didn’t stop him in order to ask questions, just let him keep talking. It took all of the patience in his entire body not to react violently. If he thought about that later, he’d justify that he was in the army and violence _was_ the answer to a lot in the army. No, instead, Wash stopped holding back his need to comfort North. His left hand reached out to hold onto North’s, his right arm went around North’s waist. It felt so good, so right, that Wash wondered for a minute why he didn’t let himself do it sooner. Then, he remembered that this was for North and not for him, that he was leaving soon, and he needed to keep whatever human emotions he felt buried. Even if holding North was the first time he felt relaxed in the few weeks he’d been there.

 

When he spoke, his voice was just a little softer, as if a little bit of David was actually in it, for once. “While it’s entirely possible he’s mad at you, when have you ever known York to blame other people for his emotions?” he asked, thinking back to Carolina ignoring him and essentially leading him on, and he always took the anger out on himself, the very few times it had gotten to him. He was glad in that moment that he could read people well. “I doubt that a miscommunication is all that it takes to end your …friendship.” Wash had almost used the word ‘relationship,’ but he thought better of it first.

 

He wished just a little bit that a miscommunication was the cause of his sleepless nights and endless worries. Washington needed to remind himself that he was chosen for the pain, though. North was chosen to be nurturing to Theta, who just needed someone to believe in. York was chosen to have Delta because he was too impulsive, didn’t notice enough, and couldn’t always be reasonable or make the best decision. Washington was chosen to have Epsilon. He had wondered many times why he was a fit for Epsilon. Didn’t they know Epsilon was fragile beforehand? Why had they still implanted him in Wash? He wondered if it was the Director’s plan for him to break down. It wasn’t, right? Because of the program being halted. So, was he supposed to be able to handle it? Had Epsilon hid his knowledge, just like Wash had? Agent Washington had come to the conclusion that Epsilon was meant for him because the Director had wanted to take someone stable and watch them crack and fall apart. And, in Wash's mind,the Director had succeeded.

 

Washington held North a little tighter than he probably needed to in order to reaffirm that he was there. He didn’t say a word about how holding North felt like the shards of his mind were lining up and it felt so good to be close to someone again. He didn’t say that he wanted North to be this worried over how _he_ felt, or that he probably wasn’t meant to be alone. He didn’t say anything, because he _needed_ to be alone. No one else should have to handle everything he did, and it wasn’t fair to them. He didn’t talk about himself at all. He just very quietly said, “I know you won’t believe me, but he really does care about you.”

- 

When Wash finally touched him North relaxed, and his relief was so palpable that he let out a small sigh. He leaned into the man, holding his hand in both of his, and he let the comfort of their contact and the sudden softness in Wash's voice flow over him.

 

He wanted so badly to believe his words, could feel himself clutching to the hope already sprouting in his chest. "He's too good to blame anyone else," North admitted. It had been one of the things that infuriated him the most about York's infatuation with Carolina. He'd watched his friend blame himself for not being interesting enough or charming enough or whatever adjective it was that week enough to hold her interest for long. And North had tried to tell him that it was her obsession with getting better, her rivalry with Tex, her desire to be the favorite of the Director again, but York hadn't listened to him. He wondered if York really could find some way to blame himself for what had just happened, and he realized that the man probably already had.

 

"I just really hope you're right," he said, closing his eyes and letting himself enjoy Wash's touch for what may have been longer than appropriate. He'd just missed the man so much, could feel himself falling for him all over again even after all of the stress he'd been through recently, and he already couldn't imagine how he and York would go on without Wash there too. There was something between the three of them, North knew. A spark of potential, the possibility for so much more, and he wondered if they would all let themselves reach for it. He was beginning to hope that they would.

 

"I want you to be right," he admitted. "I-I just want to see him smile again. He hasn't really smiled in such a long time. None of us have. I miss it." The words came from somewhere deep within him, forced out without a second thought in the wake of the sudden comfort of Wash's closeness.

- 

Wash thought back to the last time he could remember seeing North or York smile. He couldn’t remember any time more recently than before CT had defected. But, Wash had told himself he wouldn’t think about Connie anymore. Carolina had debriefed the team after the attempt to destroy her armor and kill the leader of the resistance. Wash remembered that it had been their last mission before the team had splintered and hell had broken loose.

 

But, still, he remembered the look on York’s face when he was smiling. Back when he had two good eyes, they had lit up like the stars were in them. Even with the one, it brightened his entire face. And, North’s smile was filled with kindness and fondness, and sometimes just a dash of humor, if not exasperation. Wash used to wonder how his teammates were all so attractive, if a requirement for being a good soldier was to be good-looking as well. Then, he’d see his face and laugh at that assumption.

 

If nothing else, the army had given Agent Washington confidence. He had confidence in his ability on the battlefield and in his ability to speak, whether truth or lies. He fully believed in what he said. He tried not to focus on how nice it felt to be close to North, how having his hand held by another human was so very refreshing and comforting. He just said, “I _am_ right, North. Trust me.” No matter how much confidence he had in himself, he wondered if others could still have confidence in him. He wondered if going through hell was enough to get people to listen when you actually spoke about feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... my bad, y'all.


	8. North and York

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> North - AgentBuzzkill  
> York/Wash - CaptainDynamic

York couldn’t handle sitting still, his thoughts were racing by too quickly, questioning the deepest parts of himself that he tried to forget existed. He had at some point gotten his lighter from the table next to him, and was gripping it tightly in his right hand. His feet were resting on the cold ground.

 

He tried to believe that he didn’t think about Carolina. He wanted to say that he didn’t compare always being a few steps behind her to the exhausting pain he was experiencing now. He wished he hadn’t felt the crippling doubt and the endless questions about why he wasn’t good enough. Why he was never good enough. He tried not to think of how similar to Carolina that thought made him sound. York wished he didn’t come up with a list of the reasons North shouldn’t be his friend so very quickly, but the answers kept coming to his mind, an endless stream of reminders and memories of his many follies and errors. He tried to tell himself that their friendship was real, that he was imagining everything that had happened. _Maybe he had actually died, and this was what hell was._

 

Eventually, the thoughts were too much, they filled his mind so completely, that he turned to anger. He wasn’t an angry guy, he never had been. When York was angry, somebody had really messed up. In this case, it happened to be himself. He threw the lighter against the wall and wished the headache and the thoughts would stop. He didn’t see the crack across the faded logo now on the lighter, or the chunk of the top that broke off.

 

He carefully stood, actually taking the time to be cautious of his stitches, and walked to the sink. He got all of the blood off his hands, and then washed his face. The cold water felt good, it shocked him enough that he was given just a little bit of peace. He was holding his weight up with his arms on the sink, and he didn’t notice that he was shaking and shivering. Breathing was a little easier, that’s all that he noticed.

-

North just nodded, enjoying the silence in the moment and the feeling of finally being able to relax. The worry was still there, in the back of his mind, that maybe York would want nothing to do with him after this. But he thought about Wash's words and realized that York would probably distance himself because he thought North wanted him to. And North absolutely did not want him to do that. He figured he would try to give York his space for a day or two, give them both enough time to think things over before talking again.

 

He thought that, of course, until he heard a loud noise come from York's room, like something had been thrown against the wall. He looked up toward the door immediately, tensing as if prepared for an attack, and for a moment he gripped Wash's hand tighter. He looked back at Wash's face, wondered what his own looked like for a moment before pulling away and getting up. He didn't want to leave Wash, didn't want to let Wash retreat back into himself, but the abrupt panic at York being hurt was stronger and as he turned to rush out of the room he hoped that Wash was behind him.

 

He got to York's room as fast as he could, fearing the worst, but instead he was greeted with the sight of York standing in front of his sink. He was silent, watching the other man, looking for any blood or signs of further injury, and he could see the man visibly shaking. North looked around the room, tried to see what could have happened in the time he'd been gone, but all he could see was a small but deep mark on the wall, as if something had been thrown at it with incredible force. He looked down and, so close to his feet that he was relieved to not have stepped on it, York's lighter lay on the floor.

 

North bent down, picking the lighter up almost reverently. He turned it over in his hand as he stood, looked at the way the logo, smudged and worn as if a thumb had been run over it too many times, now had a visible crack in it. He tried to close it, but a piece of the top missing left it lolling open again. He remembered seeing Carolina with the lighter before, and he wondered what had happened for her to give it back to York. He'd seen the man with it before he'd given it to her, knew that he had a tendency to take it out and fiddle with it, flicking it on and off and flipping the top up and down whenever he was thinking. He had no idea York still had it, wondered why he felt a bit bothered by the idea of York having a constant reminder of Carolina with him.

 

He stood silently, held the lighter, and wondered if York would even want him there. Maybe he'd accidentally intruded on a private moment. As much as he wanted to go to York and comfort him, something held him back.

-

York just barely saw someone enter his room in the blurry side of his vision. He felt like something was forcing his insides down, and he could only really classify the feeling as some kind of dread. His thoughts quickly ran through a list of the things North might say, and none of the options sounded good. He ran a hand down his face to get the water off of it and turned around, keeping his head held high despite the urge to curl in on himself, to fall to his knees and ask where he went wrong.

 

He was still shivering, shaking just a little bit, though from the fear, thoughts, or the endless possibilities of what North was about to say, it wasn’t clear. He didn’t look at North, he looked at the wall across from himself. He hadn’t really processed that he’d thrown his lighter, that he’d broken it. He just knew that he still wanted to punch the wall until his fists were bleeding and the emotions stopped. Maybe that’s why he was still shaking.

 

His voice was clear, but a little lower than normal, and he hid his emotions immediately, “You don’t have to apologize, again. You said how you feel, let’s just leave it at that…” The shaking got enough that he noticed it, and he put one of his arms across his stomach, the other held the counter behind him with a death grip. “A-And…” York was pissed his voice broke, but he kept speaking, staring determinedly at that wall, “if you and Wash want to just go, not looking back, I… wouldn’t blame you.” That much was true, anyway.

-

Washington was used to hearing noises at this point, and he barely registered that there had been one coming from York’s room. He saw the panic, the hopeless need to help on North’s face, and then North was gone. His hand felt cold, and he was ashamed at how much he already missed North’s touch. They needed each other, so this would be good for them. They could talk things out, hopefully. Wash had other business to attend to, anyway.

 

He waited in his doorway until he saw North walk in York’s room, then turned the other way to go outside. He barely even had to limp, now. He walked over to the suit of white armor and looked at what was left of the man’s face. Even in death, his moustache looked just as curly as it always had. Washington saw that North had shot him in the left eye and the forehead, and tried not to think about what that meant.

 

Instead, he walked a bit farther and picked up the helmet. He put it on and watched the HUD come to life in front of him. He accessed the communication logs and didn’t even wince at hearing the voice of the dead man only feet away from him. Hearing the voice helped, and hearing the orders for Wyoming to bring him in wasn’t very shocking. He went a little farther back to focus on Wyoming’s voice a little more, and to hear how his past missions had gone. Washington made a mental checklist of the dead soldiers. From their squadron, there was no one he didn’t already know about. Maybe there just weren’t any other than the three of them left alive, he didn’t dwell on it for too long.

 

He kept the moustache in his sight, because he knew it would help him. He cleared his throat and made the call. “Yes, command, Wyoming here,” his voice was an impeccable impression of the dead man’s. He used to do it to mess with Florida, though he was the only one who had dared to even do that. Everyone else had been afraid of Florida, but Wash had never shared that entirely. “…Agent Washington is dead… Yes, afraid our old chum was ready for me. He made it very clear that he wasn’t coming, so I made sure to nip that in the bud… yes, most unfortunate… yes, I will destroy the armor… and I will await further instruction… thanks, cheerio.” Wash ended the transmission and took off the helmet. He’d never had a problem to breathe inside his own helmet before, but the cool night air felt good on his face. He glanced down at Wyoming’s body, and decided he’d deal with that tomorrow. He carried the helmet in his hand as he slowly made his way back to the base.

-

North stepped forward when he saw how badly York was shaking, and he just wanted to reach out and take the man in his arms, to hold him until he calmed down and try to help him relax and get a handle on himself. He stopped himself though, felt the lighter in his hand and glanced down at it before looking back up at York. The utter blankness in the man's voice was unsettling, but his words made North's heart ache.

 

"We'd never do that," he said quietly. In contrast to York's voice his was thick with emotion, the regret and sadness at what his stupid words had caused clawing its way up and forcing itself out of him. "We'd never just _leave you behind_. York, you're...you're the most important person to me. You and Wash… you're all I have _left._ "

 

He stepped closer, testing the waters. He was tired of holding back his words, and at this point he was almost certain that things could not get worse between them. "I would do _anything_ to keep you safe," he said, gripping the lighter tightly in his hand. "I never slept with anyone in Freelancer because I was already too busy looking at you. And I watched you watch her and no matter how badly I wanted it I knew you would never feel the same. You'd never look at me like that. And I was happy to just be your _friend_."

 

His voice broke, and it felt like his throat was closing up as his eyes filled with tears. He couldn't look at York then, had to look down at the floor as he willed them to go away and tried to regain at least some composure. It took a moment of simply breathing before he felt that he could look up again, his eyes still somewhat wet, afraid of what he might see in York's face.

-

York listened carefully. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, and forced it to go back down at his side. An endless stream of feelings gripped his chest and played across his face, but they stopped on confusion, and he turned to look at North. He was full of confusion, uncertainty, and something he didn’t recognize called hope. The watery look North gave him stopped his breath for a second. He kept a hand gripped on the counter, because it made him shake less, kept him stable. That didn’t stop him from taking half of a step closer to North when he saw the wetness of his eyes.

 

It probably would never have occurred to him in his own thoughts. They’d joked about it here and there back in the day, but since Carolina died he hadn’t let himself think about any feeling similar to those yet. He’d only let himself hope that there was some way she’d made it out alive, and he’d only focused on the fact that having North with him made everything better. He didn’t let himself understand exactly _why_ that was.

 

When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, barely a whisper, “Really? But, you said…” he couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence, his brain was still attempting to process just exactly what North was telling him. His thoughts from the past fifteen minutes tried to resurface, to tell him that he wasn’t good enough for anyone, least of all North. They submerged into doubt and the self-deprecating turns of phrase that had begun to eat at him and initially caused him to start shaking. _There was no way, there couldn’t be. He wasn’t that lucky, he never had been. North wouldn’t stoop that low._

_-_

"I _know_ what I said. And it might have been the stupidest thing ever." North replied, watching as York trembled. He wondered if he might start doing the same, especially with the emotions running through him at such a rapid pace. He wanted so badly to get his point across, to make things better again.

 

"I was scared," he admitted. "I figured I would save you the trouble of rejecting me, save myself some of the heartache but-" he made an empty gesture with his free hand, holding it out to York before dropping back to his side. "Look at where _that's_ gotten us."

 

He was so incredibly tired of running from his feelings, could feel the exhaustion deep in his bones and his brain and he just wanted to tell York everything. He wanted to keep talking until York understood, until he stopped looking so confused and sad and started smiling again. He hadn't been lying when he'd told Wash that he missed York's smile, and if he tried hard enough he could still remember the way York's eyes would light up when he laughed, so full and complete and happy. That York seemed so far away, so different from the one standing in front of him, and North would give anything to see him again.

 

"I didn't mean it," he said, stepping a bit closer again. "I could never mean it. I-I got so mad at Wyoming's words because he...he turned you into something I just used for my own gain. And I could never do that, just the thought of it is _disgusting_. But...I've never been disgusted by you." He looked away for a moment, choosing his next words carefully. "I want you to know that...I've always been yours. In any way you'll have me. I...I'm in too deep with you, you know?" He tried to give a small laugh, but it came out more broken than he'd expected. "And if you don't feel the same then it's fine. I can take it, I promise. We've been friends for long enough, we...we can just forget about this conversation. But I don't want you to think that I don't have those feelings for you, because...I do. I always have."

-

All of York’s previous thoughts were suppressed, and he was given a momentary silence. It still didn’t feel right, but it was a hell of a lot better than the worries and fears he’d been thinking about. If people were described by lightness or darkness, it would be said that York felt a small slight somewhere in his abdomen, and it was slowly starting to illuminate the rest of him.

 

He took another small step, and the distance between them suddenly wasn’t there from the steps they’d both been taking. If he reached forward, he would be able to touch North, and part of him needed to. He needed to know that this was real, that North was telling the truth. He simultaneously tried to remember the time they spent together during the project, and he couldn’t find a moment in his interaction with North where the other wasn’t smiling.

 

A swell of pressure made him bring his free hand to his own chest, still shaking but for a few different reasons, he figured. It didn’t help the trembling, and his own skin felt a little warm. He hesitated, but his hand reached forward to North’s chin. The other man could use a shave, and York realized for a split-second that he really did, too. He shook that aside to look directly in North’s eyes. He was looking for a trace of a lie or joke, but he found none. He didn’t realize how relieved that made him feel, but his breathing came a little easier.

 

York had never understood his own feelings. He assumed that his reluctance to sit down and think about them was what led him to being such a good soldier. It definitely gave him the reputation he’d had during basic, those years ago, when he’d break rules and not give a damn. And, yes, he’d definitely hooked up with a few people then. He was still a kid, though. York never went to college, and he enlisted the day after he graduated high school. Nearly everyone from his home planet did the same, it was a planet full of military families. He’d been raised to utilize his strength and speed, his brain trying (and usually failing) to remember the training he’d had for so long. Plans never really stuck in his thoughts, and he had a short attention span. However, emotions had never been part of his training, so he’d never really learned how to embrace them. They just didn’t make sense, when he felt them.

 

And he felt them when he looked at North. So full of hope and admiration, and he didn’t even know it, he just knew that whatever feeling it was felt strong. And maybe there was still part of him that was afraid that he wasn’t good enough, wasn’t _human_ enough for anyone to feel those kinds of feelings about him. He figured it was about time he ignored those thoughts for a little bit, though. York almost smiled.

 

Even though he was strong, he felt so weak in front of North. The man seemed so sure of himself, of his feelings, and York didn’t even know where to begin in dissecting his. He opened his mouth to speak, but none of the thousands of words he knew seemed to arrange themselves in a way that could say anything. He closed his mouth. He couldn’t explain that he wanted to tell North how he felt, but he needed to understand what that was, first. He couldn’t find the words for how honored he felt, how lucky, how what North had just told him felt like some piece of him he didn’t even know was missing was suddenly filled. York just looked up at North and said, “thank you.” It was for telling the truth, for not leaving him, for everything. He knew it wasn’t enough, and he knew that it couldn’t begin to explain _anything,_ but it was the only place he knew to start. He hoped that his expression let North understand more than he could.

-

York stepped toward him again, but the look on his face was a softer one now. North watched the man's expression change as he came closer, from sadness to something indefinable but significantly better, and North found himself giving a small, reassuring smile as he came closer. The lighter suddenly felt heavy in his hand, intrusive in a way North hadn't expected, but he held on to it.

 

When York touched him he closed his eyes, savoring the feeling, basking in his attention and sudden gentleness. He'd had entire relationships with people that had never given him such a full, peaceful feeling when they touched him. And yet York could calm him with a single hand to his chin.

 

At York's words he gave a small smile, his eyes still a bit watery, but the tears in them were not longer from sadness. The relief that flowed through him was potent and strong, relaxing in a way nothing else had been for a while.

 

North hadn't been expecting grand declarations of devotion. He didn't want York to feel obligated to reveal feelings he was still obviously confused about. North would wait forever if he had to, and he would still be happy even if they never came. It was simply enough to have York close to him again, to be able to reach out and cup the man's face in his free hand, feeling his rough stubble against his palm. It was enough that York was looking at him and there was a small spark of that old light left in his good eye. It was enough that York knew how he felt, and hadn't told North that he was angry or disgusted. They had a long way to go, but they'd taken the first steps. And North was just glad they'd made it that far.

-

After an indiscernible amount of time, York’s hand fell off North’s face, and he stepped forward completely, his right arm tight around North, the left compensating for his injury a little bit. His face buried itself in North’s shoulder, and his trembling slowed until he was finally still. He was able to breathe, and the silence in his mind was filled with feelings, and it wasn’t nearly as deafening as it had been just seconds before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yooo, so uh... my bad?? Life happens, y'all. Anyway we're not halfway into what's been written so far, and hopefully I can post this more regularly. 
> 
> That said, I'm a lazy asshole and this hasn't been beta'd and probably won't be. If there's anything glaringly wrong or dumb or confusing, let us know. 
> 
> Cheers!!


	9. Wash II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> North - AgentBuzzkill  
> Wash/York - CaptainDynamic

Wash made his way back inside, and he figured he should check on them, at the very least. He looked in and saw York embrace North, and immediately turned around and went to his own room.

 

While he had no doubts that they wouldn’t make up, he was still somehow surprised. The small, selfish side to him almost wished they hadn’t, so that he could comfort North, or have comforted York at all. It felt so good to be needed, to be listened to so completely. Helping keep North together had helped him stay together. He quickly realized how selfish those thoughts were, and he pushed them aside.

 

Agent Washington set Wyoming’s helmet down in the corner next to Maine’s brute shot. It still had information he could process later. He looked down at the weapon he’d cleaned of blood a while ago. He rummaged through the storage space until he found what he was looking for, picked up Maine’s weapon and went to sit on the foot of his bed. It was relaxing, sharpening the blade. He doubted he’d ever use the weapon, he’d barely understood it’s movements, he’d just known that it worked well for how Maine used his whole body when he fought. He’d rip a person open, but still be able to shoot any enemies from a distance. Knowing all of this didn’t stop him from sharpening the blade. When maybe ten minutes had passed, he needed to stop. He put the weapon back in the corner, and tapped his fingers against his thigh. He needed to occupy his thoughts, do something.

 

He didn’t find something else to do, though. He sat back on the bed and held Maine’s dog tags in his hand. He leaned back and closed his eyes. He thought of the times they were all together, all alive. He ignored any flashes he might have of a memory he knew wasn’t his own. _’You’re Agent Washington. David. None of that happened to **you**. But… I really do hate goodbyes.’_

- 

North sat in the mess hall, a bitter cup of now-cold coffee sitting on the table next to the map of the areas surrounding the base that he had spread out in front of him. He was plotting out the direction they were heading, if they should reconsider heading to a more remote area. The nearest town to the base was just less that five hundred miles away, and even if they could probably make it in less than a day he still worried about gas and supplies.

 

He was more than ready to leave the base behind, the marred metal and stone at the entrance a reminder of what had happened only a few days ago. Even the mess hall still held the memories that still carried an ache with them of when York had informed him of South's death. North had to wonder who would come upon the base next, if they'd find anything that was left behind, if they would ask themselves what had happened or if it would just be a plain, unimportant place to them. He supposed it didn't really matter, not in the grand scheme of things. But it was still a nagging question in the back of his mind.

 

He and York had been enjoying their newly found (or re-found, he guessed) closeness. It was rare for York to be out of arms reach from North for long. They would separate for a bit only to come back together, constantly checking to see where the other was, and North found that orienting himself around the other man was surprisingly easy. It felt like slipping back into old times, but with the new knowledge between them, the potential for something more, there was an extra sweetness to it. It was nice, North thought, to be able to expect the man to return to his side again after being gone for too long, and to know that York expected the same from him.

 

On the other hand, North was starting to get worried about Wash again. The other man seemed to be pulling away from them again, and North had no idea how to bring him back to them. He answered most questions with a single-syllable answer, if he answered them at all. He spent an awful lot of time in his room, and even if he made sure to be there while they planned out where they were going, he offered no input. Instead he sat there, staring at the path North had charted on the map, barely answering his questions or giving any suggestions. It had been frustrating at first, York could attest to the irritation North had felt after listening to him complain about it, but now North was just concerned. He hoped that Wash would come to him if he wanted to talk about anything, but that hope was waning as the days went by.

 -

York had found in the recent days that everything seemed a little easier with North so close. He found that the rate of healing for his side was much faster than it had been before, or maybe that was just because it was almost healed, finally. Having North close again, closer than before, even, felt refreshing. It was more refreshing than the outside air he got to breathe as he started slowly walking a little more each day.

 

With his new knowledge, he was able to see things a bit clearer. North’s actions, even the simple act of him putting a hand to York’s cheek stuck with York a little bit more, he noticed the actions he hadn’t thought twice about before. And noticing them made him appreciate them so much more. He questioned his own actions and words, and found that the meaning behind them was probably a little more than friendship. Even that thought brought a small smile to his face. North had completely opened up, and that made assessing his own feelings a little easier. He was less reluctant to feel them, to show them. He was fighting against everything he’d been raised to do, that he’d taught himself to do, and that rebellious action made it all the more exciting.

 

He knew it meant more than with Carolina, because, honestly, he had spent so many months chasing her that he wasn’t sure what would have happened had she slowed down enough to accept his affection. Her ignorance and neglect had hurt him, and over time he didn’t even realize that the feelings he had for her were less about desire and more about missing the girl he’d gotten to know, in any capacity. Their (if you could call it a) fight during the siege had crushed him enough that he remembered the pain before he remembered the few good times they’d had. He hated himself a little bit for being unable to remember as many good things about her as he did bad. Seeing the broken lighter had brought back all of those thoughts, and he’d set it on the bedside table that first night and hadn’t picked it up since, hadn’t felt the need to do so.

 

When it came to Wash, York was worried. He didn’t like how closed off Wash was getting. With the knowledge that he might have feelings for North, he continuously felt like something was missing without Wash there. Like a letter lost in the mail, the absence of Wash constantly worried York, just a little bit. It was almost enough to balance out the kind reassurances North would tell him. He almost kept thinking there was something about himself that turned people away, made them want to leave. North’s presence alone was enough for him to realize those were stupid thoughts, though.

-

For Washington, it was a rough few days. He’d planned and made his decision with determined calculations. He struggled to fill his mind with things that weren’t memories, his own or not, it was really beginning to blur together again. Wash hated the thought of not seeing them every morning, or even in glancing every couple of hours. He continuously reminded himself that he _needed_ to leave, for their sake. Of all people, those two shouldn’t have to deal with the mess that had become Agent Washington. They had each other now, and they were closer than ever before. Wash was certain that, based on what North had told him about the interaction, it was only a matter of time before they kissed each other and shared a bed at night. He tried not to let it remind him of the sleepless nights he spent turning.

 

The plan should have been simple enough. All he needed to do was stay quiet. It was a simple task. They had all packed their shit into bags. Wash had barely taken off his armor in the past couple of days. He convinced himself it was so that he could stay prepared, to ease the constant paranoia that never seemed to fade enough for him to relax. Though, he hadn’t really relaxed since he held North those days ago. He had quickly learned in the past few months that one of the few relaxing things that he could still experience was the wind in his face as he drove. With food, ammo, and Wyoming’s helmet, Wash now had to have two duffel bags, instead of one. His own helmet was the only bit of armor he wasn’t wearing, and it was in his bag.

 

The brute shot was on his back, because he thought having an extra weapon would prove beneficial. Maine’s dog tags were around his neck. He didn’t wear or own dog tags anymore. He thought it was for the better, because he hadn’t been ‘David’ for such a long time, it wouldn’t be fitting for his corpse to label him that way.

 

When it was finally late enough, and he couldn’t sit waiting another minute, he got his two duffel bags. He considered looking in their rooms, but he thought that even that might hurt too much. He just needed to grab a few more MREs from the mess hall, and he could leave. He didn’t notice North at first, he carried his duffel bags, cautious of the razor-sharp blade attached to the weapon on his bag. He set them down and then looked up across the hall to see North, sitting there. He wasn’t asleep in his room. He was there, and he was looking at Wash, who had frozen in his place. This is not how this was supposed to go.

-

At the sound of movement North turned, momentarily expecting to be greeted by a tired York. When he recognized a different man, he gave a small smile. "Wash," he said, standing and walking towards the man. "What are you doing up so-"

 

But the question trailed off when he saw the bags in Wash's hands, the brute shot strapped to his back sharp and gleaming threateningly (the weapon made him feel a bit sick, remembering how easily that blade had dug itself into York, and even if he'd been close to Maine, North couldn't see why Wash would want to keep it). They'd done all of their packing earlier that day. The jeep was loaded up and even if they'd forgotten something, Wash wouldn't be bringing it out in the middle of the night. He was in his armor too and even if North had a feeling the man slept in it most nights, it still didn't explain the surprise and guilt lurking behind Wash's carefully blank face.

 

He didn't want to admit that he'd considered the possibility of Wash leaving them. It didn't seem trustworthy, and he told himself to expect more from his friend. He'd reassured York that Wash would really stay with him, that in time he'd open up to them again. To think that he might be made a liar was painful, but not nearly as painful as the idea of Wash thinking he had to sneak off in the middle of the night.

 

"Wash," he said again, in a much heavier tone. "What are you doing?" He had a feeling he knew, but he still needed to hear it. He wouldn't quite believe his eyes until Wash confinement that what he was seeing was the truth.

 -

When North got close enough, Wash’s eyes quickly found his feet. A thousand thoughts were running through his head, from knocking North unconscious and bolting to admitting that it hurt too much to stay. North’s tone made him feel like a child caught doing something terribly dangerous. Were he to think about it, Wash would find it remarkable that North’s voice had such a pull over him.

 

He quickly enough purged his body from showing any emotions and looked up to meet North’s eyes. He was sure the look on his own face was cold enough that they might be strangers, and Wash was reminded again that the two men he cared about most didn’t know him anymore. His voice was empty, when he said, “I am leaving, Agent. I would appreciate it if you didn’t slow me down.”

 

He hated lying, especially about so many things, but he had to reassure himself that once there was enough distance between himself and them that he would be able to forget about all of that, all of the pain and regret and potential. He hoped the universe had enough distance to make that possible. It would all be easier on his own. Easier on all of them. They wouldn’t be burdened with him, and he didn’t have to hide himself as much. He would be able to sleep knowing that his nightmares wouldn’t bother the people he cared so much about. He was still furious at himself for allowing the feelings for both of them to resurface. He had to stay strong, though. He had to leave.

 -

He'd known what Wash was going to say, but he never would have anticipated the coldness in his voice, or the emotionlessness that shot straight though North, hurting more than any bullet ever could. He didn't think he'd ever heard Wash sound less like himself. It scared him.

 

"What?" He said, face twisting in confusion and maybe a bit of pain. "No, we're leaving tomorrow. You can't..." but he trailed off, not knowing what to say but knowing he had to say something important, something powerful enough to get Wash to reconsider, to stay.

 

Because he didn't want to have to tell York about watching Wash leave in the morning. He didn't want to see the look on York's face. He knew that he'd blame himself, he'd ask what it was he'd done, if he'd pushed Wash away, and North could deny it but he had no idea how much York would believe him. York would blame himself when North was the one who couldn't get Wash to stay, and if he'd tried harder maybe things would be better. He wondered how much of a wall it would drive between them, if York would try to distance himself again or if North would end up giving him more space than he really needed. He wondered how long they could go on without Wash now before they broke completely, because maybe they could have made it on their own before, but now that they knew what it felt like to have Wash with them again? No, it just wouldn't work. North knew that his heart was divided in two between them, that romantic or not there was still friendship and he loved his friends more than anything, and he knew that if Wash left he would take his half of North's heart with him.

 

He couldn't believe that the closeness he thought they'd been feeling was so one-sided. That maybe things were starting to feel like old times again, just a little bit. And maybe it had just been wishful thinking, but he's honestly thought that Wash was opening up to him. That Wash even cared about them anymore.

 

"It it my fault?" he asked, afraid to step forward, to do anything that might make Wash leave faster. He knew that if he left now the man would keep himself well-hidden. There was a good chance they'd never see him again, and just the thought caused a twinge of grief in his heart. "Did I get too close? Make you uncomfortable? Because if I did I'm so sorry, Wash." The apology was as sincere as he could make it. Of course that would be it, North had basically forced his problems on the other man. It probably made him uncomfortable, and rightly so. "I-I can do better," he said, "give you as much space as you need."

 -

Wash almost challenged North immediately, but he knew it would be best in the long run if he let North think first. Or, Wash had hoped. He still had to resist the urge to knock North unconscious in order to get away without having to explain himself, but that was the coward’s route. And if anything could be said about Agent Washington, it would never be that he’s a coward. If he had to face North one last time, so be it.

 

He almost couldn’t believe that North thought it might be his fault. There was no way that Wash would be able to explain to North that no amount of closeness would ever make him uncomfortable, or that he had been too comfortable, and _that_ was the problem. He couldn’t imagine any scenario where anything North or York could do would ever turn him away, every scenario in his thoughts started with them seeing how broken he was, how unlike their Wash he was, now. They’d noticed the differences, and maybe their Wash had resurfaced a little in the past few weeks, but he needed to stay gone. The new Agent Washington would always come back, whether in the form of the emotionless way he had blown up Wyoming’s body or in the middle of the night when all was quiet except for the rapid breathing of a man who woke up from someone else’s nightmare. No, he had to save them from that man. And maybe a small part of him felt a little left out every time he saw how in sync they had become, how close. He didn’t stand a chance against that connection.

 

Wash wanted to say that space was the last thing he wanted, that he wanted both of them to hold on and never let him go. But they would be better without him. One day they might forgive him, but he wouldn’t be around to see that. He just had to hope.

 

His voice was almost softer, just a little bit, “No, it’s not you. It’s nothing about either of you. I need to do this for me.” He couldn’t make direct eye contact with North anymore, because no matter how easily he could lie to the Director and the Counselor and everyone in the UNSC, it was difficult for him to lie to North and York. “Just let me leave, Agent,” he tried to keep his voice stern, to keep himself detached from whatever emotions wanted him to stay with them.

- 

North very nearly believed Wash in that moment, probably would have let him go if that's what he really wanted. After all, if Wash resented him for making him stay he would feel worse than he would if he just let him leave. But Wash had looked away, he couldn't meet North's eyes as he spoke, and the small bit of emotion that crept into his voice was enough to make North doubt the honesty of what he was saying.

 

He wondered how the man couldn't see how important he was to them, how much they needed him there because if York didn't use his heart or head enough and North used his too much then Wash was the perfect middle ground, a comfortable middle for them to meet in together. They needed him so badly, needed him to keep them stable, and North had a feeling he needed them just as badly.

 

"Why are you leaving?" he asked, his voice a bit harder, a bit angrier. "Is it some self-sacrificing bullshit?"

 

He was so tired of it all, suddenly. Tired of trying to convince himself that Wash or York would open up to him on their own. He was tired of everyone thinking they weren't good for anyone else. He was especially tired of himself for thinking that he didn't deserve York and Wash. Because god dammit he'd come too far and gone through too much to just let Wash go now. He was so tired of everything hurting so much, of feeling like he and York were pushing Wash away by just being together, and North was willing to do whatever it took to convince Wash to stay.

 

"Do you really think you're the only one that's fucked up here?" he asked. "Do you think you're the only one who can't sleep? Who wakes up with nightmares when they finally do? We've all been through shit, Wash. None of us are whole by any stretch of the word."

 

And maybe they weren't three whole beings anymore, but North wondered if maybe they could piece themselves back together with each other's help. If they pushed themselves together, the pieces of what was left of them had to form something close to a whole being again, didn't they?

 

"If you really believe that it's what's best for you," he said sadly, "then go. But don't think that you'll be doing us any favors. Don't think you're going to do anything but break York's heart."

 -

Wash winced at the tone in North’s voice when it initially got harder, or maybe just because of the words. It wasn’t self-sacrifice, no, and it was best for everyone. He had to remind himself of this, otherwise he honestly wouldn’t remember. Had he really expected North to just let him leave? His arms crossed in front of his chest, and he tried hard to make the guilty child feeling go away. It wasn’t childish, right? It was doing the stronger thing. That’s what it was.

 

Whatever snapped in North seemed to cause a similar reaction in Washington, though. His voice rose, and he tried to ignore the amount of emotion when he spoke, though he knew it was impossible to miss, “You still have a chance to be whole, though! Both of you, you’ll heal. You can get better with each other.”

 

He uncrossed his arms and took a small step forward, as if being closer to North would get his point across better. His voice lowered again, but the emotional tone stayed, as much as he wished it didn’t. “You have no idea what I’ve been through… and the last thing I want is to drag you down or keep you from… loving each other.” He didn’t say that he was pretty sure he’d forgotten what love was. He felt so small in front of North, though their height difference wasn’t _that_ bad. “You can help him through whatever _heartbreak_ he experiences,” he added. He said the word ‘heartbreak’ with a tone of disgust, as if the word being described with Wash was truly impossible.

-

York opened his eyes, tired and unsure why he was awake. He turned over on his other side and closed his eyes again. His hand slid under his pillow to hold his knife, just in case.

- 

North's face twisted at Wash's words. When the other man stepped closer he tensed as if ready for an attack, and the sudden shock of fearing that Wash would physically lash out at him was jarring. He stood his ground though, and even if their height difference wasn't extreme he still tried to use his height to his advantage, straightening his back and clenching his hands into fists at his sides.

 

"You're acting like we don't even care about you!" he snapped. "Like it will be so easy to just let you waltz out of our lives! You...you're not going to drag us down, what the hell makes you think that?"

 

He could feel the desperation rising in him, and he knew that he didn't have much longer before Wash left for good. He searched desperately for reasons for Wash to stay, grasping for anything that could convince the man.

 

"I nearly lost both of you," he said, and maybe he was putting too much emotion into this but at the moment he really couldn't have cared less. "And yeah I had South with me but she was different. We barely spoke. Looking back I'm shocked I didn't see it coming sooner, that she'd screw me over so badly, you know?" He held Wash's gaze in his own. "I've always kind of blindly trusted the people close to me. I guess it's my weakness. But I'd accepted that you were both gone, and that loneliness..." He glanced away, lost in his own memories. "It was hell. Really, it was. I didn't know how to begin searching for you, if either of you wanted to be found. York went off on his own agenda and we were forced to leave you behind and… and I regret that every day."

 

"Then suddenly I was shot in the back and left for dead and York found me," he continued. "And yeah he saved me and I was so incredibly happy to have him again. But...something was still missing. I could tell he felt it too. Things just weren't the same and there was too much risk to even being alive and I wondered if we would ever be okay again."

 

He paused, took a second to breathe. He was nearly done, and he had no idea if what he was saying would change Wash's mind at all. "But then you showed up. And you were different, and kind of distant from us, but you were still Wash and-and all I know is that when you're here I feel like I can breathe again. And everything feels okay for a little while because I have both of you with me and I thought I would never have that again."

 

He looked back up, afraid to see what was in Wash's eyes. "I can try to help York through this," he said. "I can do everything possible to keep us together and it might work. But we'll always be missing you. That piece will always be missing and that loneliness will always be there."

 -

Wash still couldn’t meet him in the eyes. He wanted to believe North, he really did. He just… wasn’t sure he believed in himself enough to believe in North. He looked at North’s feet, wishing that his eyes could meet North’s, wishing in almost equal parts that North would let him leave or force him to stay.

 

He just said, “There’s your problem, North… I’m not still Wash. And I get why you had to keep going, _believe me_ , I get it. But, I haven’t been that ‘Wash’ in a long time... and there’s no way for me to make you understand that-understand me.” He took a half-step back, away from North. He was too worried about how everything North said was probably true.

 

He wanted to feel North’s arms around him, for him to physically hold Wash back from leaving, refuse to accept no as an answer. But, he needed to leave, right? He needed to keep away, no matter how much it hurt. It would hurt so much more if he stayed. Why couldn’t North see that?

-

York couldn’t fall asleep, and he wondered if he should check on the others. He sat up and listened carefully, hoping for silence, that there wasn’t something _else_ wrong.

- 

When Wash stepped away from him North held a hand out immediately. He wasn't sure what he was trying to do, if he was offering it to Wash or simply reaching out, hopelessly trying to get across how badly he didn't want the other man to leave.

 

"I _know_ you're not the same," he said. And he really did know that. He knew that the Wash he'd once known was either buried deep within the new Wash, or he was gone forever. But North didn't know how to convince Wash that he didn't care, that he'd seen enough of the Wash that had opened up to them in the last few days before Wyoming had shown up to know that he'd take him in any way he came. Anything was better than watching Wash walk out of their lives because he didn't think he deserved them.

 

"York and I aren't the same either," he said gently. "We've all been through too much. And I know it's different, I know you think you're more broken or that we don't really want you but...we do." He stepped closer to Wash, his hand outstretched insistently.

 

"Please," he said. " _Please_ don't go. Not if you're going because you think we can go on without you. Because we can't. And honestly, I don't want to."

 

Wash looked at North’s hand and wanted to grab it. He wanted to feel the warmth of another person in his arms, feel secure and safe after so many lonely nights. He wanted to wake up and not have a doubt about who he was. And maybe North was right… maybe he didn’t deserve them, and they shouldn’t have him, but maybe things would be better. Maybe staying really could make things better.

 

He looked at the hand, and he wanted to take it. Washington wanted to be the man North was looking for. Maybe he could. The intensity in his eyes felt overwhelming to him, but he couldn’t calm his gaze. He wanted to step forward. He wanted to stay. He turned to face away from the other man, the look on his face unbearable. “North…” with one syllable, he sounded like his world had crashed around him, like a child filled with so much hope that he was afraid of it, afraid of feeling it or embracing it. He couldn’t step away, but he wasn’t sure yet.

-

York got up, because anyone who’s been at war can vouch for their instincts. He checked North’s room first, and saw it was empty. He then checked Wash’s and found the same to be true. He still didn’t feel comfortable running, and he only had his knife, since their weapons had been loaded up the day before, but it was a pretty big knife, and sharp enough. He knew how to use it, so it wasn’t like he was defenseless.

 

He checked a few storage rooms, the war room, and finally he got to the mess hall. He saw both of them and relaxed slightly. He could barely make out the glint from the brute shot, but it still sent a shiver down his spine and made him put his hand to his side. He stayed silent, unseen. He couldn’t quite hear what they were saying, but maybe he woke up because they had been using loud voices before.

 -

"Please," North said again, stepping closer. He could nearly touch Wash. "Things might not be good all the time but...it can't be worse than being alone, right?"

 

When Wash made no move either way North took another step, closing the distance between them cautiously. He eyed the brute shot still strapped to Wash's back, at the dim gleam the blade gave off, and he had a feeling it had been recently sharpened if it could manage to shine in even the dim light of the mess hall.

 

He drew Wash into his arms carefully, wrapping his arms around the man's shoulders and trying not to cut himself as he managed to get his arms between the brute shot and the back of his shoulders. He tried to keep the embrace still and light, out of the fear that Wash might be uncomfortable. Still, it felt so right to have Wash in his arms, to finally be touching the man after days without contact. In the back of his mind North didn't miss the fact that he was already growing reliant on Wash's touch, but those were thoughts that he could actually afford to put off until he was certain that Wash wasn't leaving.

 -

Wash hesitated for a few seconds, but the feeling of North’s arms around him was so nice, that he finally gave in. He relaxed, brought his arms around North’s waist, holding him close. He was breathing easily again, and he knew he wasn’t strong enough to leave them.

 

And maybe he was a mess, and they were all a little broken. Maybe they all had their regrets and their concerns. Maybe waking up was really hard, but in that moment, Wash knew exactly who he was. He knew that the only thing that mattered anymore was keeping his boys as close as he could. He knew that they could do this, if they stayed close. “Thank you, Alex,” he spoke softly, and maybe North didn’t even hear him. There was the smallest hint of a smile on his face.

-

When they embraced, York finally lowered his knife. “Hey, why do I miss the nice moments? I’m not injured anymore, ya know,” he called out to them. It was mostly true. Running at full speed wouldn’t be the best idea ever, but he was essentially better. He wasn’t dumb and realized something had happened, but he kept his calm charade up. It was really nice to see them so close, even if there was a weapon strapped to Wash’s back. Seeing them embrace brought a dumb, fond smile to his face.

 -

North relaxed at the feeling of Wash's arms around his waist, allowing himself to close his eyes and smile. He could feel the easy rise and fall of Wash's breathing as he held him, and one of his hands moved up the back of Wash's neck to run through his hair, cupping Wash's head gently. It felt just like holding York did, perhaps better because he knew now that the three of them were definitely going to stick together.

 

They could work out their feelings in time. It was a relief to know that he had nothing but time to spend with his boys now, that they had endless days ahead of them to figure things out. And even if their potential threats weren't entirely gone, according to the UNSC they were all dead. And if they laid low for long enough, maybe they could leave Project Freelancer behind for good. It was all wishful thinking of course, easier said than done, but it was easy to lose himself in hoping when Wash was so close and he felt so safe.

 

At the sound of York's voice he opened his eyes and immediately looked up, turning to the sound of his voice. North stepped back just enough to open himself to York, keeping one hand on the back of Wash's head while holding the other out to York. If York asked he would explain everything, but he was content to let things be for a moment.

 

"There's still a bit of the moment left for you," he said. "If you want it."

 -

York would have denied it or laughed, but even though he missed the dialogue, he could tell that it was a little too powerful a moment for that. He walked towards them and set his knife down on the table before he went to the other two. “Get that thing off your back, Wash,” he told the other.

 

Wash gave a soft chuckle and brought it down, avoiding North’s arm. He set it on the ground. “My bad,” he said softly.

 

York grumbled something about ‘wakin’ the whole base up’ and ‘losers’, but he still almost knocked Wash to the side when he hugged him from the side. He smiled up at North, and wondered how he had been so damn lucky to have both of them in his life. Things were really starting to look up, for maybe the first time since Freelancer, and York was beyond pleased. It was nice to be optimistic again.


	10. Road Trip

The metal of Wash’s jeep glinted in the late morning sun as North loaded their last-minute packing into it. They had just enough fuel, and plenty of food and bottled water for a trip twice as long as they expected to take, but North knew that both Wash and York liked to eat and he felt more at ease knowing they were prepared for the worst. He didn’t anticipate them driving for more than a day, with any luck they’d reach the small town they were heading to before sundown. He stepped back and looked at the jeep, at everything they intended to bring with them packed up neatly and stowed away, and he wondered if they would ever have a chance to lead lives that wouldn’t be so easy to pack up and take with them at a moment’s notice.

 

He turned away from the jeep, heading back toward the base, and as he stepped through the entrance he tried not to look at the damage still left from Wyoming’s grenade. He was happy that they would be able to leave the only visible scar from the man’s reappearance. It would be a nice change of pace to be able to leave scars behind.

 

He headed to their rooms, stopping in his and checking one last time to see if he was leaving anything behind that he wanted to keep. He felt for it for what seemed like the hundredth time that day, but South’s knife was still securely at his side. It felt nicer to call it her knife, even though she’s given it to him. He’d cleaned it the other night, washed and dried and sharpened it until it gleamed as bright as it had the day he’d gotten it. When he saw it he could still hear her laughing, could still see her smile at his face when he’d opened the box it was in. It was nicer to associate it with the good memories of her, and he had plenty of those. Enough to remember his sister as the sensitive, snarky, ultimately kind person he’d known before Project Freelancer had twisted her so completely. He dreamed of her sometimes, as the happy person he’d once known, but she had the same haircut she’d gotten before joining the project. She would tell him she was happy for him, that York and Wash were lucky. They were some of the only dreams from which he woke up crying.

 

He headed to Wash’s room next, saw the other man sitting on his bed and looking at the brute shot propped up against the wall across from him. “Hey,” he said quietly, and Wash looked up at him instantly.

 

“Oh gosh,” the other man said, clearly a bit flustered. “How-how long-“

 

“I only just got here,” North said as he entered the room. “But I’m assuming you’ve been here for a while?”

 

Wash just looked at the brute shot again and nodded.

 

“You gonna bring it with?” North asked, and Wash nodded again.

 

“Yeah,” he said, and North thought he sounded tired. “It wouldn’t feel right to just leave it here, you know? Can’t let the work Maine put into it go to waste.”

 

North watched as Wash moved to pick up the weapon, hefting it up onto his back with a little huff that North probably found more adorable than he should. He grabbed that one bag left on Wash’s bed as Wash grabbed his own helmet. North’s own helmet was sitting on the driver’s seat of the jeep, claiming the spot for him, and other than their helmets the two men were in the rest of their armor.

 

“You got everything you want?” he asked, and Wash gave a noise of affirmation. The two made their way out the door. Wash flicked off the lights in the room as they left.

 

“We’re heading out now,” North called into York’s room as they passed by. “Grab what you want and we’ll hit the road when you’re ready!”

 

They made their way out of the base, and North breathed in the fresh air as soon as they were past the marred walls of the entrance. The morning seemed brighter, somehow, or maybe it was just that his mood was higher than it had been in a while.

 

“Shotgun!” Wash called as they approached the jeep, and North laughed.

 

“You’ll have to fight York for the spot,” he said, and Wash just rolled his eyes.

 

“Last one out of the base gets the backseat,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Besides, if I let you two make goo-goo eyes at each other the whole time, we’d probably end up in a ditch somewhere.”

 

It was North’s turn to roll his eyes. He and York had tried to keep to themselves, especially after Wash agreed to stay with them. They didn’t want to make him feel like a third wheel or a bother, but in all honesty when he caught York staring at him it made him want to stare back. North just shook his head. He’d have time to think of such things later. As it was he took his helmet off the driver’s seat and pulled it on before getting in the vehicle, Wash sliding in beside him.

 -

York was thrilled to be leaving the base, in all honesty. He was excited to be able to walk around easier, looking forward to getting back into shape (though he was still basically in shape, he just wanted to be less rusty). He was excited to be moving forward, and for once, the change of scenery really felt like it was bringing with it change between the three of them. And they could use a little change.

 

He sat up when North called to him and stood, stretching his arms for a second. York reached into his pocket and pulled out the broken lighter. He closed his hand into a fist around it and held it up so he could see it clearly. He sighed, and a small smile appeared on his face. He voiced his thoughts out loud, maybe because he needed to hear the words spoken by _someone._ “She’s gone, York. She’s really gone.” He ran his thumb over the faded and cracked symbol for that shitty club one final time, and then set it on the bedside table. It was time to move on.

 

York grabbed his shotgun and helmet and left the room. He forgot to close the door. On his way out of the base, he walked by where he’d fought the Meta. It hadn’t rained, and he saw a brown stain that he made sure to ignore. The air felt extra fresh, and he turned a corner to see the other two in the car. A smile came across his face, and he thought once again how remarkable it was that they’d all found each other.

 

He didn’t mind sitting in the back, and wedged his helmet and shotgun with their other stuff before stretching out behind the other two. “Let’s go, then,” he spoke as if they hadn’t been waiting for him. He reached forward and his fingers tickled the back of Wash’s neck. He was the idiot who’d taken the front seat. The second North started the car and began driving, York casually asked, “Are we there yet?”

 -

North laughed as Wash made a small, exaggerated noise of outrage. “That’s what you get for sitting there,” he said with a wide smile. “If you were in the back he’d be too busy ‘making goo-goo eyes at me’ to bug you.” His voice rose into an imitation of Wash when he repeated his words, and Wash gave a scoff.

 

“If you ask for a bathroom break within the next hour,” he threatened, turning in his seat to look at York, “I will force North to kick you out.”

 

“It is technically his jeep,” North chimed in. “I’m only driving. Pretty sure he gets a say in who gets to be in it.”

 

“See?” Wash looked at North and North loved that he could hear that the man was grinning just by how his voice sounded. “North is on my side.”

 

“Now now,” North said, taking a hand off the steering wheel and holding up, placating. “I refuse to take sides in this.”

 

“That’s just his way of saying he’d not on your side,” Wash shot back smugly.

 

It felt natural and easy to fall back into laughing with these two. York glared at Wash from the back seat, arms crossed in front of his chest. “I don’t make goo-goo eyes,” he defended himself. “And team up all you want, but I’ll win this one, Wash.”

- 

York leaned forward again and ruffled Wash’s hair this time. “I’m the master at this game,” he informed Wash. “Besides, it’s a maturity thing. You kids these days wouldn’t understand.” He leaned back again, trying to maintain the faux-serious tone. “Papa over there knows what I’m talking about,” he gestured to North.

 

It felt nice to be moving, the base getting smaller and smaller behind them. “Can we at least stop at historical landmarks?” he asked, face breaking out into a grin. This was going to be the best road trip.

 -

“Really?” North said with a smirk. “I didn’t know you considered me so much more mature than you. I guess I see it now, I am the wiser one out of all three of us.” He laughed a bit to himself. “You gonna call me Daddy now? I didn’t think you were into that.”

 

Truth be told, he really had no idea what York was into to begin with. He hadn’t even tried to kiss the man yet, was waiting instead for York to make the first move. North already knew he would be comfortable with it, but he wanted to be sure that York would be too. He tried to pull himself out of his wandering thoughts and focus on the road ahead of them. Once they got to a road, of course.

 

“There aren’t any historical landmarks,” Wash groaned. “Unless you consider the hills we’re passing by particularly remarkable.” Already he was beginning to regret giving York the backseat, but if he asked to stop and switch now it would only be a sign of weakness. He would survive this trip, one way or another, and he planned to do it from his place firmly in the passenger’s seat.

 -

York laughed a bit with North. “Definitely not,” he informed the man. While York had only been intimate with women before, he knew a thing or two about a thing or two. If he ever thought about it, he’d realize that the girls he’d been with had all been strong women, and maybe he really loved being completely dominated by someone else. He didn’t know about all that role-play crap, but he certainly enjoyed when things got rough.

 

He focused his attention on Wash for a second and said, “You know, your sass is noted and not appreciated, Davey.” He grinned, knowing how Wash felt about the use of that particular nickname. He knew Wash regretted ever telling them his real first name. York took out his water and casually took a large drink from it.

 

Yes, this was certainly the start of something, something great. York felt at ease. The morning sun wasn’t too hot, though the climate of this planet was usually pretty close to 22 Celsius by midday. Even the weather seemed to know that things were looking up. York could’ve sworn the sun felt a little brighter.

 -

“What a shame,” North sighed, though he kept the light humor in his tone. “And here I thought I’d get to break out that belt I still have with me.” There was something different about joking about such topics with York now. On the MOI it had been an obligation for him to play along, even though he knew that the jokes were only jokes to York. But since he’d admitted how he felt there was a new heat between them, a spark of something that North couldn’t wait to ignite once he had a chance to.

 

“You know, Ry-Bread,” Wash snapped back, “I don’t think I appreciate your tone.” He heard the plastic crack of a water bottle opening, and he turned, holding out his hand. “And if you could pass me one of those water bottles too, that’d be great,” he added.

- 

York would be a liar if he said that he hadn’t been thinking about his feelings a lot in the past few days. He would be a liar if he didn’t admit that he cared about North and Wash more than a friend might usually. That didn’t mean he wasn’t hesitant to make a first move. He was terrible at purposeful flirting, especially with someone he already knew. He didn’t recognize flirting that wasn’t in your face obvious, either. He was accustomed to pick-up lines, one-liners, that sort of thing. He didn’t know how to start the conversation without sounding like he was joking or making fun of North. He knew it wasn’t just because North had told him he had feelings. He knew it had been there for a long time, waiting for him to wake up and realize it. And now that he had, he wasn’t quite sure what to do. He’d been chasing Carolina for so long that he didn’t know what to do when the other person liked you back. Now he had these two people in front of him, one he knew cared about him back the other at least tolerated him as a friend (most days), and he had no idea what to do.

 

“Hey, now, no need to be so negative,” he shot back at North with a playful spark in his words. It felt right talking to them so easily. At Wash’s comment, York (almost comically) turned his head. “Ry-bread?” he asked, amusement clear, despite Wash’s entirely sass-filled tone. He handed him some water, nonetheless.

 -

"I'll make a note of that," North replied and he suddenly wished he hadn't put his helmet on, so he could smile at York or wink or do something. It seemed like every time they flirted now it left a familiar anticipation in the pit of North's stomach. Instead of focusing on that, however, he focused on what was ahead of them.

 

"In case you forgot, your name is Ryan," Wash said, and he could hear his voice rising in pitch as he defended himself. "it totally works!"

 

"Wash," North said gently, "if you give him a response he's just gonna keep going."

 

"I know that," Wash said as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. "But I'd like to see you try to ignore him bothering you."

 

North shrugged. "I've gotten used to it," he said, grinning again. "I can tune him out if I have to."

- 

York sighed over-dramatically. “I know my name, _David,_ I just never associated it with bread before,” he told Wash.

 

He then turned to North, “You could never tune out the lovely sound of my voice.” It wasn’t that he wanted North to demonstrate, but it was so natural to joke with them that he wasn’t really thinking before he spoke.

 

York ran his hand through his hair sat back, content to spend the time just joking.

 -

"You're right," North replied. "It's engrained in my brain, too late to get it out even if I wanted to. I guess I'm stuck with you." Out of all possible options, he knew he would prefer to have York and Wash with him over practically every other choice.

 

"You know," Wash said, and even as he heard North give an exasperated sigh he continued. "There's worse things I could call you, Righty."

 

"Are you sure you want to bring that up?" North chimed in, "You might still have both of your eyes but I seem to remember only one of here having pictures of cats in his locker."

 

"What does that have to do with anything?" Wash demanded. "And whose side are you on, anyway?"

 

"My own side," North answered simply, "The best side. The one that likes to sit back and laugh at you both."

 -

York grinned at North’s first comment, pleased to hear that North couldn’t get him out of his head if he tried. There was an effortless satisfaction there that he could get behind.

 

Maybe their banter was immature or dumb, but they deserved a few laughs. Of all people, they deserved this.

 

He looked at Wash with wide eyes and a horrified look. “I only have one eye?” he asked, putting a hand up to his face to dramatically grab at it. “You bastard, what did you do?” he asked Wash.

 -

“Sounds like a boring side, old man,” York told North, then added, “and cats are dumb.”

 

"I'll have you know my side is perfectly entertaining," North replied. "It gives me the best view of you two arguing about stuff like this."

 

"Cats are not dumb!" Wash exclaimed, turning back around and crossing his arms in front of his chest. "North, tell him cats aren't dumb," he demanded. He resembled a pouting child so well that it made North burst out in a fit of laughter.

 

"North!" Wash exclaimed and North's laughter faded gradually into sporadic giggles.

 

"I'm sorry," he said, "that was just really funny. If I was picking sides, and I'm not, but if I was I'd be leaning to York's side now."

 

North’s laughter made York laugh with him. He looked at Wash. “Well, I won’t say I told you so, but…”

 -

York leaned forward and ruffled Wash’s hair again. “Maybe one day, kiddo,” he told the other man.

 

“Oh, hey, look… different hills!” York sounded extremely excited about these hills, but they looked almost identical to the ones before, they could just see another section back of rolling hills in the distance. It might be considered beautiful if they were from that planet, or if they liked hills.

 -

"Are you sure?" North asked. "They all look the same. Maybe we should start calling you Righty."

 

Wash laughed, but the feeling of York's hand in his hair shut him up. "Kiddo? Really? I'm not that much younger than you." He glanced over, watching the rolling hills as they passed by them. "Should've ditched you guys when I had the chance to," he muttered. It was meant to be a joke of course, but when he didn't get a reply he looked over at North. The other man was silent, pointedly staring out at the road, and Wash said hesitantly, "It...it was a joke, North."

 

"Yeah," the man replied. "I'm sorry, I just. Yeah." He seemed to shake himself, looking over at Wash. Wash suddenly wished he wasn't wearing his helmet, that he could have some clue as to what North's face looked like.

 -

York mumbled a, “let’s see you appreciate scenery without good depth perception.”

 

At Wash’s comment, his hand paused for a second, but then he continued running his hands through it. Seeing the opportunity to utilize his skill with the spoken word, York said, “hey, know any fun car games?” As someone who was used to ignoring feelings or moments in favor of humor, it made sense.

 

York looked over at North, wishing he could make him less tense while driving. He thought about it for a split-second, and then used his hand that wasn’t in Wash’s hair to reach over and poke North in the side. It was childish, yes, but it would be better than the awkwardness. Plus, it was always fun to watch North jump.

 -

North was knocked out of his thoughts hard enough when he fell an abrupt poke to his side that he jolted in his seat, making a small noise of surprise. He glanced back at York, but he realized that with his helmet on the man wouldn't see his shocked face anyway. He turned his attention back to the road, focused on the fact that they were all together. "Thanks," he murmured.

 

"Let's see," Wash said, trying to lighten the mood again and looking around as he enjoyed the feeling of York's hand in his hair. "We could play I Spy." He placed his hands over his eyes, pretending he had binoculars. "I spy with my little eye, something large that looks like a hill."

 -

York was mostly just impressed the car didn’t swerve too much and was pleased to see North grip the wheel a little looser. He kept a hand scratching Wash’s head, because he wasn’t being swatted away.

 

At Wash’s comment, York busted out laughing, full-force. When he caught his breath, he said, “Any chance it’s a hill?”

 

York was reminded for a minute of the pelican rides they used to take. Usually they were just far enough that similar jokes could be made. He felt a twinge of sadness when he thought of 479, and wondered for a minute if she’d gotten out of the reach of people who had to pay for what the Director did. He thought of her hesitance with meeting Delta and her casual jokes while flying their asses to danger then back to safety. He shook those thoughts from his mind, though, focusing instead on the here and now.

 -

"Well shit," Wash said. "I thought I wasn't being too obvious. So much for that game."

 

North laughed, and it felt good to do so. "Hey, Wash," he said in a stage whisper and the man looked over at him.

 

"Bet'cha I can't drive and take my helmet off at the same time."

 

"Really?" Wash said, surprise coloring his tone. "We decided you should drive so stupid shit like this didn't happen."

 

"Come on," North said. "It's stuffy in here."

 

"Then pull over, it's not like you'll stop traffic!"

 

North pretended to consider the idea. "Nah," he said plainly, before scooting down on the seat and pulling his legs up, reaching for his helmet with both hands as he steered the jeep with his knees.

 

"Jesus fuck!" Wash yelped as the jeep swerved violently, and North righted it just as sharply with his knees. He pulled the helmet off swiftly, shaking his head a bit and breathing in the fresh air over the sound of Wash's yelling, and in a matter of seconds his helmet was on the floor of the jeep and his hands were back on the wheel.

 

"I told you I could do it, didn't I tell him, York? he asked smugly, looking over and smirking at the slightly terrified look on Wash's face.

 -

York grinned at North showing his joking side. It was great to hear the man laugh again. He was not, however, expected North to actually go through with his plan, and since he was sprawled across the entire backseat, he flopped around a little bit more than Wash did. He even hit his head against _something._

 

When they swerved back, he grabbed Wash’s seat in order to not be thrown again. He laughed almost the whole time, though. Mostly at Wash’s yelling. He cleared his throat and casually said, “Well, he did say so.”

 -

"This jeep wasn't even technically mine!" Wash yelled over North and York's laughter. "I'll have you know I'd like to keep it in one piece!"

 

"Oh lighten up," North said, running a hand through his hair. "Everything's fine. We're all alive and I finally got that sweaty thing off my head." He looked back at York and Wash scrambled to grab the wheel as he turned.

 

"You okay back there, York?" he asked with a grin. "I mean, you should be. You can see my lovely face and my glorious helmet hair."

- 

York laughed at Wash’s arguments. It really sounded like the rookie he used to know, and it was fantastic to hear his voice do that high-pitched thing. Classic Wash, really.

 

“Gotta love that helmet hair,” York agreed North. He looked at Wash and still spoke to North, “we should do that again.”

 

York took the opportunity of going straight again to lean forward. “Hey, Wash. I spy with my only eye… something white that’s in the sky,” he told the other in his serious voice. This was going to be the greatest road trip ever.

 -

"Ask me in an hour or so," North said, turning back to the road and lightly smacking Wash's hand away from the wheel. Wash still looked a bit frazzled as he sat back in his seat.

 

He looked at North, at the way the sun managed to shine off his hair and how his smile caused wrinkles to form around his eyes.

 

"They're clouds, York. Even your only eye can see that," he said. "Maybe I'll give up shotgun," he murmured, thinking of how stressed North's driving had him. "This could be bad for my heart."


	11. York and North

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> North - AgentBuzzkill  
> York & Wash (for this chapter) - CaptainDynamic
> 
> (Sorry it's been decades, we have a few more reserves on this one, uh, blame university studies and bad mental health? <3)

York had used almost all of his self-control to not laugh at the look the hotel lady gave them when they walked in. He knew military wasn’t _as_ common on this planet, but the woman seemed so flustered by the three of them that it was a little comical. There wasn’t really a lot going on in the town, to be fair, it was actually incredible that there was any form of hotel.

 

Accommodations being what they were, she had informed them if they wanted warmth, they’d have to chop their own firewood. Wash very quickly volunteered to do that, in fact he seemed excited to do it. York thought about how the military life was bad enough that menial tasks had excitement when the younger man eagerly left the room. The thought was enough to bring him down from the light humor of the car ride. Plus, it was beginning to get dark out.

 

He’d been thinking it over, and he figured that maybe he should just talk to North. There was no other alternative, really. He couldn’t expect the man to read his mind, and maybe he’d end up finding the right words for once and not screw it all up. Well, he could hope anyway. There was just no other way around it, and if he wanted to take a step forward, he’d have to initiate it himself. The direct approach had always been scary to him before, especially when the person he’d been trying to approach was too busy training. This time, it seemed to make sense, though. North had managed to speak his mind, and he deserved to hear York do the same.

 -

North was sitting down on one of the two beds (they had another room rented), and it seemed he was taking the time to relax from the drive. York walked over and sat next to him, feeling like small volts of electricity were what was actually in his veins. He could do this. He cleared his throat and said, “So, I’ve been doing some thinking…”

 

North had honestly been expecting worse when they'd pulled into the small town. He'd known it wouldn't be much, but he guessed after so long in the two extremes of huge cities or complete rural isolation he'd forgotten what it was like to live in the middle. It reminded him a bit of the town he'd grown up in, and it had made him smile as they'd pulled in.

 -

When they got their rooms he was surprised to see a relatively nice living space. The sheets appeared to be clean, there were towels in the bathroom, running water and electricity. Even a little free bar of soap next to the sink. The heat was a bit of a bother, but he knew Wash would bring back more than enough wood. It had made him a bit nervous at first, to let Wash go off alone, and he had to remind himself that the man was just that--a grown man, who was more than capable enough to get some firewood. So North made sure he had his pistol and let him go, comforted by the fact that Wash let them bring his things up to their rooms.

 

He stripped his armor off as soon as he could when the door to their room closed, digging through his things until he found a comfortable pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. For only spending the day in a car he was pretty tired, and he realized it had been quite a long time since he'd taken a long trip like that. It had been familiar still, a car full of bickering people trying to play games to pass the time and begging for bathroom breaks every ten minutes. Not too different from old family trips.

 

He only barely restrained himself from flopping down onto the bed face first, but he decided against it. Instead he sat calmly, letting his thoughts wander as he felt himself relax. Finally being out of that base was refreshing.

- 

When York sat next to him he sat up and turned to face him, interested in what he had to say. A voice in the back of his mind said that what York wanted to talk about might not be a good thing, that maybe just a car ride had proven to him that he didn't want North as much as North wanted him. But it was getting easier to push the voice back, to look into York's eyes and see the light there and think that maybe the voice was wrong. "What's up?" he asked with a small smile.

 

York took a deep breath. If North looked down, he would see York's fingers constantly moving and interlocking. He had a knack for messing with his hands when he got nervous. _It'll be fine, idiot. Just talk_ , he thought to himself.

 

"So, you said before-at the base, I mean- how you-Uh, how you feel. And I just figured that I should step up to the grif line and do the same," York would've thought looking at North's face, at the look in his eyes, he would feel nervous, but the calm smile was reassuring and helped him breathe easier. "You know that I'm-well, I suck at the whole... _feelings thing_. But, our uh-talk the other day... It's made me realize a couple things. Things I never knew before, because I was afraid to think about it. I mean, you know me, I'm not exactly the most expressive... No, what I'm trying to say is-" York looked North in the eye. It would feel good to say it. "I-I think I've always had feelings for you. I blinded myself with distractions and maybe I felt that way about someone else, but that's in the past. And you-you and wash-are my future, and I really like the thought of that. And I don't think I'm afraid anymore."

 

York looked away for a second, then looked back at North. "You said you're mine, but... Well, Alex, I- I would really like to be yours, as well. You've always been there for me, and some part of me knew that. And, hell, we're both alive, despite all the odds being against us. It's about damn time something great happened, don't you think?" He looked up at North with a certain spark in his eye. York was so relieved to have finally said that, finally put into words everything he never thought he'd be able to say. And maybe he didn't want to say it before, but he was ready, now. He's moved on.

- 

As York spoke North could feel the emotions swelling in him, the affection and trust and happiness and hope that York had always inspired in him rising up and making his head feel lighter. He wondered faintly if he was dreaming, if he was going to reach out and touch York and everything would be gone and he would wake up alone. He decided, in that moment, that he didn't even care. But when he reached out to cup York's cheek in his left hand everything remained the same. He could feel York's skin under his fingertips, the roughness of facial hair, the sharp jut of his cheekbones and jawline, and it all felt so real that he allowed himself to believe it was.

 

If someone had told him back on the MOI that this would happen; that one day Agent York, the man so head over heels for Carolina that he stayed up to watch her train and was constantly by her side, would say he wanted to be North's...North wouldn't have believed them. He almost didn't believe it. But the honesty and emotion in York's eye convinced him almost immediately and it was almost too easy to let himself have this. Too much had happened for him to even think about doubting York.

 

"I think we're long overdue for some great things," he agreed. "It's not going to easy to move on but...we can do it together. You, me and Wash. We're...we're stronger than everything that happened." He swallowed, basking in the pure comfort that he felt with York so close. "I'm yours and you're mine," he said softly, his thumb stroking over York's cheek. He leaned forward, closing his eyes as he pressed his forehead to York's and his hand moved to run through the man's soft hair.

 -

York was hyper-aware of North's hand on his cheek. And if he thought about it, they touched a lot. A hand through the other's hair, a pat on the shoulder, a hand on the cheek. But, York had never thought twice about that. Just North being North. The only difference this time was that York was paying attention. North's hand through his hair had the same calming effect it usually did, only with York paying attention, it also sent his touch receivers a slight shock.

 

While York enjoyed portraying himself as Mr. Self-Confidence, and he absolutely was, it was different this time. Not because it was a guy, but because that guy was North. And he wasn't stupid. He knew North was a bit older, that he'd actually done stuff with his life before joining the military. He also knew that any connection he'd had hadn't ever felt like this before. And with Carolina, the most she'd done was kiss him on the cheek a few (five) times. It had seemed to electrify him, and it put him in an extremely chipper mood, but when North just stroked his cheek with a thumb, it felt more intimate. Intimate in the sense that they were closer. Closer as people, with a stronger connection than York ever could have imagined having with someone else. It didn't matter that North was a guy, why would it? They cared about each other, and that's what was important.

 -

North brought their foreheads together, and he looked so relieved, so much calmer than York remembered him ever being. With the recent discovery of having feelings, York realized he was now fully within his right to try something that he had been thinking about for days. He tilted his head down a bit, avoided North's nose, and closed his eyes. He was still hesitant, like a dumb teenager drunk off the thrills of being young and horny and their parents’ liquor cabinet. Maybe North was just that intoxicating. Maybe York had never kissed another guy sober and hadn't kissed _anyone_ in a few years. Still, if he was ever allowed to show weakness or that he didn't know what he was doing, North was the person to do that in front of.

 

And his caution didn't stop him from kissing the other man. York hadn't been prepared for the feeling in his core, like a plasma grenade about to go off, but he definitely didn't pull away. His left hand found North's shoulder, and he held it a little tighter than he needed to.

 

North could feel it when York moved his head, and for a second he was disappointed that York was pulling away so quickly. But then York was leaning close again and what North got was so much better than he could have ever dreamed.

 

The press of York's lips to his own was unexpected, but far from unwelcome. In fact, it felt a lot like coming home. A lovely warmth flooded through North, every part of his being suddenly centered completely around where York was touching him. The hand in York's hair returned to his cheek as North gave a small, pleased noise. He raised his other hand to York's face, gently holding him but not commanding the kiss. York had initiated it, and North saw that for the big step that it was. He wasn't about to force himself upon York, and he was happy to surrender control to the other man.

 

He'd kissed plenty of people before, girls when he was younger and boys until he joined the military, but once he started basic training any kind of intimacy was either forbidden or seen as a waste of time. He'd had his fill of experimenting in college anyway, had a useless degree and a wealth of memories to recall on particularly lonely nights. He made do with what he had and accepted that he'd probably be alone for good. Of course then he'd been given an offer to join Freelancer and York happened and he supposed the rest was history.

 

Maybe it was because it had been so long, but North couldn't remember ever feeling such an immediate spark of want for anyone after just one kiss. When he pulled away gently to breathe he opened his eyes, looking down at York's face cradled in his hands. His gaze immediately drifted from York's eyes to his lips, and the hunger to move in for another kiss was unbearable in the best way, a low thrum of energy under his skin that pulsed with every beat of his heart.

 -

When they stopped, York had a grin on his face. He saw North’s eyes move down and wondered if North could feel the acceleration in his heart rate. From the first second, York knew that any amount of time spent kissing North would never be long enough. North’s positive reaction stirred the warm feeling in his stomach, the nerves and attraction and contentment.

 

A fire had been lit, so to speak. York physically couldn’t stop himself, he just wanted to be closer to North, to feel that positive burning feeling again. In a very swift movement, he turned and hooked his leg around North so that he was straddling him. Words weren’t necessary. His right hand grabbed a fistful of North’s t-shirt and pulled him closer.

 

Where the first kiss was hesitant and soft, this one had an urgency to it, a need. And York wasn’t thinking about the roughness their stubble caused, though he would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the feeling. York didn’t know it was possible to feel this strong a desire for someone in such a short period of time. And York stopped being aware of time when they kissed. He wasn’t aware of anything in the world except for the warmth of North’s mouth and the feeling of his hands in York’s hair.

 

York realized that he wanted to experience North take control. The other man had these feelings for so long, and York really wanted to see what he would do now that he had what he had apparently wanted for so long. The thought was thrilling, and that anticipation along with the feeling of North’s mouth on his was the only fuel he needed. The excitement, the pleasure, those were just added bonuses.

 

And yes, York had always preferred the other person he was with to take control. He’d always been attracted to people with strong personalities, people who took charge of any given situation. And while North could be strong at times, he was also content to step aside and let someone else take the lead. York wasn’t going to have any of that, he wanted North to take the reins. He wanted it like a kid wanted candy or a runner wanted water. He wanted _North._

 -

North grinned when York pulled his shirt and moved to straddle him. As York drew him back into another kiss his hands easily moved from York’s face to his hips. His fingers crept up under his shirt, teasing at the skin with soft touches, feeling the jut of York’s hipbones under his thumbs. He pulled York closer to him, pressing the man to his chest as he deepened the kiss, testing the waters of taking control.

 

He’d always loved to do all the work, found the most pleasure in giving his partners what they wanted and showing them how much he cared about them. The feelings he had for York only made him want that more, to hold York down and draw things out, to take it all so incredibly slow that it would reduce York to a shaking, begging mess underneath him. He wanted to make the man above him come undone in the best possible way, and North wanted to be there to guide him through it and be there when it was over. But he also wanted York’s complete trust before doing so, and he was content to simply guide York through the motions of kissing, taking things at the pace York set.

 

He broke the kiss to breathe again, but instead of reclaiming York’s lips he dipped his head down to mouth at the man’s neck. It was a new sensation, having to look up at York, but it felt right, almost as if he was worshipping the man above him. He nipped and sucked, trailing kisses down York’s neck until he was nearly at his collarbone where he centered in on a perfect spot to leave a small mark. He just wanted to leave something small, something that would fade within a day or so but would still mark York as undeniably his for the time being.

 

He felt like a teenager again, scared about getting caught with his hands down his girlfriend’s pants, and even if he didn’t have to worry about his parents walking in on them he still felt an illicit thrill run through him. The newness of it was exciting, the hundreds of unknowns when it came to York that he was suddenly dying to figure out, and North already knew that he would never get tired of exploring the other man.

 

He pulled away, admired the small mark he’d left behind before looking up to try and meet York’s eyes. “More?” he asked, wanting to make sure York was still okay with everything. As much as he’d like to let go of himself completely he knew York’s comfort was the highest priority.

 -

York would never normally think about the skin just above his pants or his hipbones, but North’s light touches made him realize that he was hyperaware of any way that North touched him. It had been so long since he’d been with someone (aside from very drunken mistakes during the military, of course), and he had forgotten that a new person was entirely different from anyone else. The best part about letting someone else take control was not knowing what would happen next, where they would touch him, the words they would use. It was all new with a different person, and the endless possibilities would be stunning if York stopped to think about it.

 

When North moved to his neck, he inhaled sharply. North’s instinct found places he was sensitive, and when he stopped just above York’s collarbone, he had again found the perfect spot. He leaned into North’s touch, and angled his head back just slightly. A quiet, higher-pitched moan came out of his mouth. It was breathless and would only be heard by someone whose head was in very close proximity with him, in this case, North.

 

York was definitely a fan of having marks on him the day after. Back in his high school days, he truly didn’t care when people talked about it, and he just grinned and gave them a better view. Because who got rough with someone the day before? York did.

 -

North pulled away, and York looked down to meet his eyes with a small grin. He could kind of sense that North was being cautious, and it _was_ their first time together, so it made sense. York had learned that getting someone to do exactly what they wanted to him without any reservations took a few times (unless it was this one girl during basic training, but that’s an entirely different story). He would almost be annoyed with North if it weren’t so damn endearing at the same time. York’s grin returned, his hands lightly scratching the back of North’s head. “God, yes,” he told the other, moving in for another kiss.

 

North closed his eyes as York kissed him again, giving a small groan at the feeling of York’s hands on the back of his head. The sensation sent chills down his back, and he shivered under York’s touch. He loved the noises he could draw out of the other man, and he wondered how many more he could get him to make.

 

His right hand dipped under the waistband of York’s pants, still staying close to his hip, teasing with the lightest fleeting touches. His left moved up further under York’s shirt, to the muscled expanse of York’s back. North could feel the occasional smoothness of small old scars under his hands. He didn’t know where most of them had come from, but he knew he had plenty of time to find them out if York was willing to tell their stories.

 

After the positive response from leaving a mark on York’s neck he let his nails scrape down his back, light and blunt, as he moved his hand away from York’s hip and up to the back of his neck. He broke the kiss again to lean forward, pulling York’s head back ever so slightly to give him an easier time at pressing kisses across the line of York’s jaw. The man’s stubble was rough under his lips. He scooted closer from his place between the man’s legs.

 

“God you’re beautiful,” he murmured, using his hands to urge York to grind against him. “But you knew that already, didn’t you? Always knew how goddamn beautiful you looked. No wonder I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

 -

The more places North touched him, the more places on his body felt like the first sparks to a fire. York understood why people who dated always felt the need to touch, now. It was the deep need to continue to feel the fantastic electricity. He’d never been in a true ‘relationship’ technically, so he’d never really experienced that.

 

A shiver went down York’s back with North’s nails, and York’s back arched slightly. North started kissing across his jaw, and York hadn’t ever considered how sensitive different parts of him were. At the motion to grind his hips, York eagerly did so at a medium pace. He moaned a little louder this time, because the tightness of the jeans he’d decided to put on was beginning to be obtrusive.

 

He gave a soft laugh at North’s words, and his reply was, “Well, you’re not wrong.” His hands slid down from the back of North’s head to his neck, then his shoulders. His thumbs rubbed circles where the base of his neck met his broad shoulders without him having to really think about it.

 

It felt fantastic, to finally be under the control of someone he completely trusted, no questions asked, someone who knew him so very well. The excitement pulsed through his body, and he forgot about the things that had happened. He forgot about the project and the Meta, the months of dusty secondary planets and petty theft jobs. He forgot about the pressure of the military, the bullshit of the project. _He forgot about Carolina_. The only things that mattered were that North seemed to already know exactly how to take command of him and how absolutely stunning North looked, how content. And maybe it was worth it to get through all of the bullshit, if it led them to this moment. York wasn’t about to complain about anything, except for the fact that North should touch him more, but they had all the time in the world for that.

- 

"When have I ever been wrong?" North asked with a smirk, looking up at York as he pulled away to raise his hips in time with York's, meeting his low thrusts. His smirk widened into a grin at the moan York gave. As York's hands moved to his neck and started pressing down a low, pleased noise slipped out of North and he moved back in to kiss York again. He couldn't get enough of the man's mouth, and he had a feeling he would never get bored of kissing him.

 

The hand on York's hip trailed down York's leg. North moved it down as far as he could before moving back up, stroking up the inside of York's thigh until it was pressed against the front of York's pants. He could feel the other man's arousal but he didn't move his hand, choosing instead to tease York. Part of him wanted to hear the man ask for it.

 

He could already imagine all the things he could do, all the things he wanted to try, but it was hard to focus too much on anything in his head with York in his lap, pliant and wanting and everything North had expected and yet still so much more. Passing fantasies were nothing compared to the reality in front of him, the dreams he'd woken up and chastised himself for paled in comparison to the sound of York's moans in his ear. He wondered if he was going to wake up back at the base in a moment, aching and embarrassed and impossibly turned on. He decided he didn't care, he would take what was given to him and covet that with his life.

 

He broke away from the kiss again to lean his forehead against York's shoulder, running his other hand up York's chest and to the back of his neck. He ran his fingers through York's hair, gripping it lightly and pulling gently to expose York's neck again. He eyed the mark he'd made.

 

"What do you want?" he asked, glancing up to York's face. "We can go as far as you want."

 -

The small noises from North filled York with an odd pride, because he was the one to make that fantastic sound come out of someone else. York wondered for a split-second just how he’d never thought of _this_ before, never noticed how stunning North really was. Then again, he’d never seen this look on North’s face before. A small part of him felt guilt and a bit of anger towards himself, because they could’ve done this so long ago. The rest of him knew that he wouldn’t have been ready before. It took thinking he’d lost North twice _and_ being presented with it as an option before he was able to grasp it.

 

And boy was he fucking glad that he did. As North’s hand moved down and back up his leg, York was challenged with not leaning into the touch. The only thing in the world York was aware of was North, how even the slightest of his touches sent a shock through him, how good it felt to be this close to him, how absolutely gorgeous he was. York was unable to completely restrain himself from his hips moving forward into North’s touch, and he wasn’t aware that he’d inhaled sharply and let out the shakiest breath.

 

The slight tug on his hair kept the grin on his face as he attempted to regain his breath. And it was just so easy to get completely lost in North’s touch and his eyes. York glanced down. Yeah, he could get used to seeing North under him. Or over him. The closeness was what was important.

 

At North’s words, York wanted to say that they had the rest of their lives and that York would go as far as North wanted at any time. And for a split-second he thought about them taking it slower and getting used to each other’s touch, but that was absolutely ridiculous, and not just because of the pure magnetism and _hunger_ he felt for the man now. Instead of any of that, York spoke without thinking (as he is prone to do), and quietly said, “God, North, please touch me, _please._ ” His voice was full of desperation and passion and lust, and York knew after he spoke that he was completely useless under the power and control North had over him.

- 

The sheer _want_ in York's voice sent a thrill through North. Another sharp stab of arousal settled in his gut at the sight of the man above him so hungry for his touch, begging for it, and North couldn't do anything but oblige.

 

"I mean, if you insist," he said. He was proud of how steady he was able to keep his voice, how he managed to hold onto composure for just a bit longer. His mouth returned to York's neck, taking advantage of the exposed skin there. He kissed and sucked, leaving a bigger mark than the first in his path, biting just a tiny bit with his teeth to see if he could coax any other sounds out of York. It was almost a game in a way, or an experiment. Guessing what York would respond to and trying to prove himself correct, backing off if the response was lukewarm or upping the pace if he was encouraged to do so.

 

He trailed his hand down York's body slowly, making sure to keep constant contact until he stopped at the button of York's pants and met his other hand. He undid the button and unzipped slowly, pushing them down just enough to be able to reach in and palm at York through his underwear. He could feel the warmth of the man through the thin fabric, applying just enough pressure to get a reaction but not to satisfy. He wanted to keep teasing York for just a bit longer, wanted to hold off as long as he could because he knew once they really got going neither of them would last long.

 

He pressed his tongue into the dark mark left on York's neck, satisfied with his work, and he grinned up at York. "How's that?" he asked, mostly because he wanted to hear York's voice again. "I need feedback here. Work with me, come on." He'd been told before that he got a bit too bossy in bed, but York seemed to be into it and North figured it wouldn't hurt to test the man's limits when it came to teasing.

 -

York’s eyes closed when North started making a mark on his neck. His right hand reached up to the back of North’s head, if only to make sure he didn’t move for a bit longer. York let out what was a soft, high-pitched whine.

 

When York’s jeans were pulled down, and North’s hand was just barely touching him, York could feel the blood rushing down and his balls tighten. He realized just how much he _needed_ North’s touch, how he would do anything to have North keep touching him, keep kissing him, nipping at his skin. His senses were on fire, and he barely fought off the natural movement to move his hips forward into North’s hand. It was a war between his body and North, and he really wanted North to win.

 

“Oh, North,” he breathed out, eyes opening to look at the other man. York fought to control his breathing a little easier. North’s grin and his tone brought a laugh out of him. “It’s fantastic,” he told the other, still holding his hips back to let North control the contact, still, just barely, keeping control over his breaths. “Feels good, _so good,_ ” he groaned softly, because it was difficult to speak in full sentences when half of his breathing consisted of trying to suppress noises. He did that out of respect for the other people in the building, or because York had almost entirely been in those situations whenever he fooled around with anyone in his past. Always in secrecy, fast-paced, and over just as quickly as it started, and always with the knowledge that it wouldn’t last.

 

Just as another moan was starting to leave the back of his throat, there was a fumble at the door handle. York only noticed it because of his heightened senses, but he jumped up and back, very quickly pulling up on his jeans and shoving his dick back in them to bring the zipper up. The door behind him opened, and he turned to see a walking stack of firewood.

-

Wash hummed to himself as he made his way back up to the room with his pile of firewood. Maybe he’d gone a little overboard and lost track of time, but he’d thoroughly enjoyed it. He hadn’t done too much training, and a physically exhausting task was just what he needed. Plus, using the axe in the back was fun, and it reminded him of the old lumberjacks on Earth that he’d read about once.

 

His humming stopped when he had to manage to open the door with the cut up logs stacked in his arms. Eventually he leaned his elbow down and lightly kicked the door open. “Firewood, anyone?” he asked, a noticeably chipper tone to his voice. Wash walked over to where the fireplace was and knelt down to set them down.

 

He wasn’t facing the others, so he didn’t see York give a panicked look at North, but he heard York very quickly say, “I have to-bathroom,” and he practically ran from the room.

 

Wash just laughed and stood up to look at North. A small smile was on his face, and he felt completely relaxed from the fun, if slightly stressful, car ride. “I did the real man’s work, so you need to make the fire happen,” Wash gestured towards the fireplace and walked to the bed North wasn’t sitting on. He very quickly took a seat and made himself comfortable.

 -

At the sound of his name on York's lips, his need and arousal obvious from the growing hardness against North's hand, the rush of satisfaction was immediate. He stroked harder, faster, leaning back in to resume nipping at York's neck.

 

In one moment he had York in his lap and under his hands, making the loveliest noises and encouraging North to pick up the pace. He was immersed in the feeling of York under his hands and mouth, completely focused on what he was doing. Just as he was about to try and see if he could make York stop caring so much about keeping quiet, the man was suddenly gone, and the immediate loss of contact was dizzying enough that North made a small noise of confusion. The worry was quick to come in the wake of the sudden shock back to reality. Had he done something wrong? Was he misreading York's encouragement? Did he take things too far, too fast?

 

Then York was leaving, saying something about the bathroom, and North thought _well it's a bit of a bad time for a bathroom break,_ before he finally noticed the stack of wood with Wash's voice making its way towards him.

 

Everything made sense in a single moment, and his eyes grew wide as he scrambled back on the bed, grabbing for a pillow to shove onto his lap. He cursed his decision to wear sweatpants, realizing at that moment that while they were comfortable, they also didn't leave too much to the imagination when he was even halfway to an erection. He felt his face flood with heat, knew that his extremely pale complexion meant that it was impossible to even hide a bit of a blush, let alone the kind of blush brought on by this kind of embarrassment.

 

"Yeah," he said, but with the crack of his voice he had to clear his throat and try again. "Yeah I'll uh, I'll get right on that. Just give me a second." He couldn't seem to look directly at Wash, looking at the wall behind him and the bed he was sitting on before looking to the firewood. "You did-uh-did a great job, Wash," he said, trying to appear casual but feeling like he was failing miserably.

 

He'd gotten caught with a boy before, in the apartment he'd shared with South and a friend of hers their third year of school. But South had laughed it off easily, had teased him about the face he had made when she'd burst through the door to ask him what he wanted for dinner, and while the mortification had been just as strong that time as it was now it had been easier to let her make fun of him and demand he lock his door and superglue it shut next time. She'd complained and they'd laughed and they'd moved on. North had to ask himself if it would really be that easy this time.

 -

Wash leaned back on the pillow and against the wall. He saw a data pad on the table between the two beds and quickly grabbed it. “Well, I would hope that after the military, I’d be able to manage cutting up a few logs,” Wash said with a small smile. He brought up the news on the pad, checking for anything about investigation of the UNSC.

 

While the results filtered in, he glanced over at North, and said, “Sorry if I was gone for a while, I guess I lost track of time. Hope the two of you weren’t bored out of your minds without my glowing presence in the room.” He was obviously joking in the second half of what he said, and he looked back to the pad. Nothing in the news, he’d have to hack into the databases.

 

Wash set the data pad to the side and he was content to just sit there for a moment. The fresh air and the scent of freshly cut wood still had him feeling refreshed, but he realized how hungry he was and glanced at the bags. He’d just sat down… he could ask for one when York got back.

-

York splashed cold water on his face and breathed deeply. _Fuck, that was close,_ he thought to himself. He waited for his body to calm down and recover, lost in the whirlwind of how many feelings were running through his body. He quickly had to think about something else and splash more cold water on his face, though. Instead, he thought about how easy talking to North had been, and how they had been so completely in their own world. A small, absolutely genuine smile stayed on his face, and it felt stupid, like a teenager who’d just had his first kiss.

 

A few minutes passed and York’s body calmed down enough for him to return to the room. He opened the door, and seeing how red North’s face still was brought a smirk to his face. “Wash, did you cut down the entire forest, or something?” he asked, closing the door behind him.

 -

North ran a hand through his hair, wondering if Wash was being completely serious or just didn't seem to notice their disheveled state. He guessed he appreciated it either way, and figured to not take it for granted.

 

"No it's fine," North muttered, looking over at York as he entered the room again, looking utterly unaffected. North hated him, the smug son of a bitch. Well, that was a lie. He could never hate York. But he did resent the man's ability to regain composure so quickly.

 

"We managed to keep ourselves...occupied," he said, glancing at York. "You're up anyway," he said, nervous about taking the pillow off his lap. "Why don't you make a fire? I'm getting cold." Which was a lie of course, North was certain he'd never felt warmer, but the pleasant heat from before had turned into the white hot burn of mortification and that was far less enjoyable. As he gave York another glance, he noticed the dark mark he'd left on York's neck and couldn't help but give a small smile. Even so he tried to get the man's attention without Wash noticing, to warn him that the mark was pretty obvious, but it was hard to do so quietly.

 -

York used all the self-restraint in the world and managed not to laugh at North’s phrasing. “Sure thing,” he was extremely chipper and immediately set about building the fire. Plus, he knew if he continued to look at the look on North’s face, he wouldn’t be able to contain the laughter for much longer.

 

Wash looked up at York, and while he assumed the cheerfulness was to do with finally leaving the base or even just because York was almost entirely healed now, he was still a little surprised. He hadn’t seen that kind of look on York’s face since the days during the project, if even then. He shook those thoughts from his mind and just said, “when you’re done, I need you to do some hacking.”

 

Wash leaned back again, wondering if he should turn on the glass screen mounted on the wall. Maybe some entertainment or news would be nice. They hadn’t had idle background noise in a while, anyway.

 

“You got it, boss,” York told Wash. The fireplace had a small layer of soot, and York piled three of the logs into it. There were some sticks left in front of it, which he used to get the flame going, but luckily it caught quickly. York looked to North, still grinning. He could still feel the ghost of where North had touched him, where his teeth had been, and even the memory sent the slightest shiver down his spine.

 -

York’s chipper demeanor very nearly made North scowl as he passed by the bed, but the fact that the man wouldn’t look at him gave him at least some satisfaction. He watched the man work, tried not to admire the view too obviously with Wash in the room, but his mind was still in a bit of a filthy place and he was still working to pull it out after such an abrupt stop.

 

When it seemed that he’d gotten enough of a handle on himself North set the pillow aside, making a show of sitting up on the bed and stretching before getting up and heading for their bags. As he passed York he shot a quick hand out, landing a hard pinch right on York’s ass as the man bent over to start the fire. He thought he hid it rather well, angling his body so that he blocked it from Wash’s view, but he wasn’t entirely sure he cared if the man saw that. It would be easy enough to laugh it off anyway.

 

He dug through their bags before finding some of the MREs they’d brought along and he pulled a few out, tossing one to Wash as he dug out two more for himself and York. He had a feeling Wash was hungry, as far as North knew he’d been chopping wood for a good part of the early evening and hadn’t had anything to eat besides snacks in the jeep. There was a single bag of chips left in their snack rations, North noticed, and he tossed that to Wash too.

 

“Hungry, York?” he asked the man with a small smile, moving to stand next to him and lean down close to his ear. He figured he would have a bit of fun, especially after the man had escaped to the bathroom so quickly and left North out on his own to deal with the embarrassment at their interruption. Some immediate payback was in order, and North leaned in close enough to murmur into York’s ear: “I’ve got something for you to eat.”

- 

York barely managed to catch a noise from escaping him at the pinch he certainly hadn’t been expecting. He turned his focus to lighting the fire a little quicker. At North’s words, York took a deep breath and bit down on half of his lower lip, trying not to picture what North wanted him to. He slowly let the breath out. He hoped his voice sounded normal when he said, “Yeah, I could eat.”

 

Wash didn’t look up but he reached out and caught the food that was tossed to him. “Score,” he muttered, mostly to himself, before he quickly opened the food. In his hunger, he wasn’t paying the slightest attention to the other two.

 

York turned to smile at North, when he realized why his neck could so easily still feel North’s mouth, and he slowly raised a hand to feel what he knew was a mark. York’s eyes widened and he looked to see what looked like a smug look on North’s face. York glanced to the fireplace and grabbed a pinch of the ashes, dirtying his fingers. He very casually went about touching his neck in a way that it would rub off and just appear as dirt. It only partially worked, but he didn’t know that.

 

He took the MRE from North’s hand and quickly left the warmth of being in front of the fire to go sit at the foot of Wash’s bed. “Hacking, you mentioned?” Wash thrust a data pad in his hands and then reached to the middle and grabbed a glass plate. He turned on the screen embedded in the wall and selected video-streaming, then the news.


	12. Project Freelancer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys think about the past then try to make plans to move forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this chapter,   
> Agent North Dakota - AgentBuzzkill  
> York & Wash - CaptainDynamic
> 
>  
> 
> and yeah, Carolina's name is 100% cuz Charlotte is a city in North Carolina.

North gave a small smile at managing to make York lose his focus, if only for a moment. He raised an amused eyebrow and laughed at York's attempts to hide the mark on his neck, as if something even darker over it would help hide it at all.

 

He stood upright again, giving a small groan when he leaned back and stretched a bit. He returned to the bed he'd been on before sat down, crossing his legs under him. He leaned forward, hands in his lap, and looked over at York and Wash. It was nice to see the two of them interact, to watch how they responded to each other, though his smile faded a bit as Wash passed the data pad to York.

 

"Hacking what, exactly?" he asked, mostly curious but also a bit wary. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to risk attracting the attention of anyone else just yet, wanted a bit more time in peace and quiet before the flung themselves back into conflict. And maybe he also wanted a bit of time with York, to explore more of him and finish what they'd started and start up again when they were ready. He wanted to know what it felt like to sleep beside York, to wake up next to him and press his lips to York's forehead and tell him good morning. And of course they'd get bored eventually. They'd want the danger again as they always did and North would be happy to oblige, to tag along and make sure York and Wash stayed safe, but he wanted to savor the peace for a moment first. Still wherever they went he knew he would follow, and he guessed he would have to take advantage of whatever time they had before things got hectic again.

 

He glanced over at Wash and for a moment, as he watched him eat and fool with the screen on the wall, the man looked remarkably like the Wash he'd known on the MOI. Of course the shadows under his eyes were still there, his eyes weren't as bright and his smile wasn't as wide. But he looked more at ease than North could remember him looking since he'd come back, and just the sight of that was enough to fill North's heart with a warm wave of affection. Affection and maybe something more, something he didn't dare touch on so soon but was growing more insistent with every day. He knew he would have to address it soon, but it could wait a bit longer. They did have some time to themselves now, after all.

 

"How long's it been since you hacked anything, York?" he asked, choosing to return to teasing the man. "We don't want them to know about us immediately." It was both familiar and new, the joking between them. It carried their past but now it also carried their present, the electricity from just moments ago.

 -

York's eyes flicked up when he heard the soft groan and stayed on North until he was done stretching. He then looked down at the data pad and clicked into where it had last been.

 

When he saw UNSC, he glanced up at Wash, but he didn't say anything. He just looked back down and set about getting logged into their secure databases without detection.

 

He's never been one to question orders, and favours for close friends seemed to fall under that category in York's mind. Hell, it had taken Tex waking him up with a hand over his mouth an a gun to his head for him to listen to her. Maybe she'd known he didn't have questions, or maybe she'd just needed someone to get her back in. York still wasn't entirely sure why Tex and chosen him. But she'd sat patiently while he read through CT's files, even if patiently meant across the room with her gun still loosely pointed at him. She answered what questions of his she could, and then they were gone. No chance to speak to North or Carolina or even check on Wash sleeping in the sick bay.

 

Wash had been using the remote to the wall's information centre to flick through the news, but he couldn't search any key phrases on the system. That's why he needed to hack. Plus, he would need more information, anyway.

 

"UNSC. Then searching for any news on Leonard Church," Wash didn't notice he'd almost growled the name, "or Project Freelancer." He looked over at North, assuming the other would be okay with knowing what they might be up against. If the old Wash had shown through earlier, that moment entirely showcased the new one.

 

York looked up from the data pad at Wash when he said 'Leonard Church', and he felt a pulling in his chest. He hadn't known the Director's name until he'd read it in CT's file. He knew Carolina's real name, and he'd immediately figured out what they had kept hidden from the rest, their connection. That was only one of the times he thought he might throw up that night. York quickly looked back down and kept working.

 

Wash kept his eyes focused on North. It was darker in the room, now. The fluorescent lights, fire, and the two screens kept the room just lit enough that they could still see everything just fine. Wash let himself relax a bit again, and he resumed eating. He sat a little straighter and focused a little more on the voice of the news reporter talking about the planet's weather by region. He focused on anything to keep his thoughts occupied.

 

York smiled a bit at North's teasing, "Hey, I'd like to see you get through a level 14 holographic without any problems." He glanced up at the other for a second, then looked back to the pad. "Besides, half the times I triggered alarms in the field were impossible to override. I believe you recall the space battle where the Director and Delta were both literally just waiting for me to fail in their plans. Wasn't given the chance to be successful." He continued typing, and added, "Plus infiltration and hacking, while similar in concept, and very different. And hacking is the easy one." He has a small smile on his face as he finished writing a program to override the site. Now they just had to wait.

 -

"Yeah," North replied faintly, his mind elsewhere. "I guess lot of us weren't given the chance to be successful."

 

The name Leonard Church meant nothing to him, but the venom with which Wash said the name and York's glance at Wash tipped him off as to who the man could be. "Is that-" he said slowly, hesitantly. "Is that the Director's name?" He sat up straighter, his eyes narrowing. "How did you-" he looked from Wash to York. "Did Tex tell you that?"

 

He was aware in that moment that out of the three of them he was the most unaware of what had really happened in Project Freelancer.

 

Of course York knew more, he'd helped Tex break back into the MOI, she had to have shared at least some information with him to convince him to join her. It had been a question that haunted him in the nights York was gone, both before and after the MOI crashed and everyone seemed to scatter in all directions. Why had he left? What was so important that he needed to leave so quickly, without so much as a goodbye? North had been getting the feeling that something was off for a while. Why didn't York trust him with the truth? He'd felt York's absence like a hole in his chest. Carolina had been unbearable, Wyoming even more so. He was even getting sick of South. North's patience had thinned beyond belief, and by the time Tex and York returned his anger was nearly at its breaking point. He'd wondered if York would find him, maybe at least say the goodbye he'd never said before or try to convince North to come with him. But York had gone immediately to Carolina, and North was too tired at that point to do much but accept that York had made his priorities crystal clear.

 

He couldn't call it betrayal, because he'd figured York hadn't seen North as someone who cared enough about him to feel pain at his absence. But it still stung. And then the MOI crashed and Carolina was gone in a split second and when he saw York going one way he'd found himself trying to save his sister and going in the opposite direction, because he wasn't going to bother with people who didn't care about him. He had family to protect. And even though he'd found York again and had allowed his feelings for the man to come flooding back and soothe old wounds, the pain of the man leaving him and the worry that it would happen again, that he'd wake up to the news that York had left without so much as a "see ya later" was still present in the back of his mind.

 

Even Wash seemed to know more than him, and he'd been under the UNSC's thumb for the past several months. North didn't like the idea of being so out of the loop, didn't like the thought that the other two might know vital things that he didn't.

 

"What else should I know?" he asked, and even though he knew he needed the information he wasn't entirely sure he wanted it. Ignorance was bliss after all and the truth would only lead him to anger and loss and outrage. But...he needed the truth. If he was going to stay with them, and he had no intention of doing otherwise, he had to know what they knew.

 -

Everything on the break-in day had happened too quickly. York had taken down countless secondary soldiers, and then he’d felt a good amount of satisfaction in taking down Wyoming. But he’d found Carolina; He’d tried to explain that it wasn’t about Tex or the leaderboard or any of the bullshit they told her. He tried to get her to run away with him, but she’d attacked. He made defensive movements. She took him down, as she always did, and he’d barely seen his lighter float towards him. He remembers reaching toward it, then darkness.

 

Delta was there when they woke up; they were in one of the core engine rooms trying to wreak what havoc they could. There were screens of what the pilots saw and a radio system to the command deck. He’d watched the Meta rip out her implants. He’d yelled ‘No!’ so loud his throat was hoarse for a week, and he’d punched the TV. Delta had finally calmed him down, and then he made his escape. The loss of Carolina was too heavy in his mind for him to think about anything else.

 

When he’d watched the Meta knock out Wyoming, who he had thought dead at the time, and when he saw him headed for South, he’d finally stopped supporting the idea that she was still alive. North’s talk at the base and his own thoughts, the ones he didn’t dare think of before, either because he didn’t know what Delta would say or because it still hurt too much, he understood why she did what she did. He wished so many things had been different, but he couldn’t change the past. He’d let himself let her go. And it had been freeing, in a way. He tried to keep his thoughts away from ‘what if’s.

 

York looked up at North. Well, he wasn’t looking directly at North. His vision was blocked with a haze of pained eyes, full of regret and sorrow and a little bit of anger. He was seeing past North. He nodded to signify that Leonard Church was, in fact the name of The Director, and that, yes, Tex had given him that information.

 

Wash looked over at North and then at York. It seemed he didn’t want to speak about it, so Wash would answer. His voice was level, but his tone was dark, and even though York knew the logistics of it, hearing it said out loud was terrible. “The AI were fragments, pieces of an original, Alpha AI. The Director and the Counselor tortured the Alpha, and they used Gamma, Sigma, and Omega to help. They created scenarios where he believed he had lost everyone he loved due to his own errors. They took away his logic, so that he wouldn’t comprehend what they were doing to him. They took away his trust, and every defense mechanism he used broke him further and tore more pieces out of him.

 

“Every AI is based off of a person, and the Alpha was based off of The Director. You used to talk about how Delta and Theta were obsessed with the Alpha, but it’s because they came from him and they wanted to be whole again. Sigma followed through with that feeling, and that’s how the Meta was created.”

 

This, York hadn’t thought to put together. He wondered how Wash knew all of this, where he’d figured it out. Maybe he had been able to read some files when he was away? That didn’t sound like the UNSC that York knew, though.

 

Wash continued, “Tex was a byproduct of the creation of the Alpha. The Director lost someone in his life, someone named Allison. Tex was a shadow of her that The Director was never able to forget about. The feelings he had were strong enough that they created Tex. And then, North as you are probably aware, they began to look at things in other ways. As the Alpha broke into too many pieces, they watched what would happen when one twin didn’t receive an AI. They watched her leave her brother for dead and shoot another teammate in the back.” Wash wasn’t sure they knew she had even done that to him, but he had started talking, and he wasn’t able to easily stop himself.

 

Wash took a deep breath and finally stayed silent then turned to pick at the food he wasn’t hungry for anymore. Talking about the Alpha had brought back all of Epsilon’s feelings, and he was doing his best to push them away, but the betrayal and the fragmentation felt like sharp pains in his chest. He stared down at his food, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

 

York swallowed hard. He knew that South had a poor field execution with Washington, but he didn’t know the details of it. Hearing Wash talk so specifically about what the Director had done, how horrible it was, York almost felt nauseous. He looked back to North. The anger was gone from his eye, emptiness, a touch of sadness, and hardness had replaced it. His voice was level, but quiet, and he said, “Carolina’s real name was Charlotte Church.”

 -

North could feel himself growing sicker and sicker as Wash kept speaking, as more of the puzzle pieces came together and he was left with a horrifying picture of what he'd participated in.

 

His mind immediately jumped to Theta at the mention of the AI. Even as North felt the familiar pang of loss in his heart, and the itch in the back of his mind that never quite went away completely, what he felt most of all was immense pity for all the AI. A strong surge of anger flared up in him at the thought of the torture the Alpha had faced, and even with as much as he cared about Theta and Delta, for the first time he regretted ever accepting the AI. Theta had been the best partner, had been a joy to know and care for, but he'd created a deep divide between North and his twin. The AI was a fragment of a shattered whole, and when he thought about the fact that he'd willingly kept that fragment and never once thought to truly question the AI's obsession with Alpha was disgusting to him.

 

York had told him about the other experiments soon after he'd saved North's life, had told North that he deserved to know that he and his sister were manipulated as North sat in that base and tried to wrap his mind around the concept of people tearing others apart just because they felt like it. He couldn't help but wonder why York hadn't thought he'd needed to know about the AI, but the past was in the past, at least when it came to that issue. He had greater things to concern himself with now.

 

He wanted to find some way to comfort Wash, but he wondered if his touch would even be welcome. "I had...no idea she did that to you," he said, searching the man's face even as Wash wasn't looking at him. "I'm sorry," he said, and he wondered if he was saying on his behalf or hers.

 

She hadn't been herself for most of the time Wash had known her, and even if he didn't expect forgiveness for her he still felt compelled to say something. Project Freelancer had twisted his sister, turned her into someone he barely knew, and even if she'd only recently died she had left him a long time ago, with nothing remaining beyond memories of a shared childhood and a struggle through adolescence and the thrill of young adulthood.

 

As he looked at York and the man told him Carolina's name everything seemed to click into place and North ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "Christ..." he muttered, and he didn't seem to be able to say more. Of course she was his daughter. Of course this wasn't complicated enough. Of course there weren't enough broken things involved, why not add another family in just for kicks? He thought of every interaction between the two that he'd been present for, and he wondered how the Director had managed to distance himself so completely from his own child.

 

The longer they sat in silence, the angrier North became, and to give himself something to do he stood and moved to the fireplace, using the poker to move the wood around and coax the flame into growing a bit. It felt good, to stab a bit at something, and North had to wonder what that meant for his psyche. He remained silent, turning over everything in his head again.

 -

York's hands resorted back to his fingers messing with each other. He really needed to find a small rope to practice knots like he'd had in basic and in the early days of the war. Before he'd been recruited and shaped into Agent New York.

 

He wasn't sure how everyone else had been picked, but in his case, which was, in fact, different, he hadn't been inducted immediately. He'd been selected based on rule-breaking and the Director needed to break him into someone who followed rules before he could trust him as an Agent. He had been worked until he puked every day for a week, he was almost positive they monitored _something_ while he slept, and he had never run so many laps in his life. There was always more to do, and if he didn't pull his weight, then the team would go down. York didn't like how quickly the Counselor had picked up on his team-based battle effort, or how he had played to that part of York in his pre-training. York had been told countless times in high school (which was honestly just pre-military schooling until they were of age) that he couldn't save his entire team, that he needed to think only of himself and his orders. He'd never truly grasped that, until Freelancer anyway.

 

There was a month between when he left his squad and joined Freelancer, and that's where his loyalty had grown from.

 

It might sound a bit fucked up, but York was raised in the army, essentially. It sharpened his mind and took him back to the training he'd learned in high school. It's no wonder he usually runs when he's stressed out.

 

York remembered food and busied his hands with opening that. He watched North pacing, and he tried not to be angry at The Director again. Angry that he had been so hard and cold to his own daughter, had put her in a ranking system, fucked that badly with her head. York tried to forget that because he'd spent all of his time alone being mad about it. He had North now, and Wash.

 

York watched North stab at the fire and sighed.

 

Washington's voice was hard and cold, but he said, "it's in the past." And he meant that. While he was capable of holding a grudge, maybe too capable sometimes, he recognized that the program had fucked South over just as much as everyone else. It hadn't been the beginning of his trust issues, and he wondered if it wouldn't be the last time he was abandoned. Maybe that's why he'd wanted to leave before, be the one to abandon the others before it could happen to him.

 

York glanced over at Wash, and asked, "Wait, Wash how do you know all of this? You never left their supervision and orders before you joined us."

 

Wash shouldn't have felt a pull in his stomach at the question. He should've known it was coming, probably. He looked down at what remained of his food and just said, "Before Epsilon tried to kill himself, he informed me of what happened." He worded it loosely enough to hide exactly how he had been informed, because he didn't want to hear 'I'm sorry' or anything pointless like that. They didn't need to know that he had seen it, experienced it.

 

They didn't need to know he sometimes forgot who he was.

 

York reached over and put his hand on Wash's leg. His thumb moved back and forth, but instead of apologizing he just said, "That really sucks."

 

And Wash said, "Yeah, it does." He was thankful he hadn't apologized for something he didn't do, thankful he didn't ask more questions, and maybe just the connection of York's hand on his leg shouldn't have been as comforting as it was, but Wash wasn't about to complain.

-

North hadn't been particularly fond of Carolina, but he'd certainly never wished any harm to come to her. To realize that she'd been manipulated and ignored by her own father filled him with disgust, and as he set the poker down by the fireplace he couldn't imagine the anger York must have felt at finding that out.

 

He still didn't like the tone of Wash's voice as he dismissed North's apology for what South had done. He couldn't say he was surprised, and he hadn't really expected any real forgiveness. He wasn't sure he would ever truly forgive her for what she'd done to him, and even if it was getting easier to think of her without feeling a sharp stab of grief in his gut he also felt a searing bitterness over how stupid he had been, how easy he'd made it for her to get the better of him and let The Meta take Theta, how she'd left him for dead as if he meant nothing to her. He knew Wash wouldn't be quick to forgive her, if he did at all. It was the hardness in his voice, the anger, that worried North and let him know that it wasn't all in the past after all. "We all know the past isn't too far for gone for us," he said, turning to look at Wash.

 

He wondered how much Wash was really telling them about Epsilon, if the AI had really had the time to tell him anything before trying to destroy itself in his mind, but he didn't say anything. If Wash didn't want to tell them and he wasn't in danger then North wouldn't pry. When York put a hand on the man and Wash appeared to be comfortable with it, North moved closer to the bed. He didn't want to overwhelm Wash, but he couldn't help but think about how Wash had held him in the base, how he'd comforted him and reasoned with him and maybe North had more feelings that contributed to how badly he wanted to help Wash but he justified them by telling himself that he was repaying the favor from earlier. Even though it felt closer than a favor, and Wash hadn't had any reason to care about North's problems before.

 

He walked slowly to the bed and sat next to Wash, just less than an arm's length away to give the man a bit of space, and reached out to put a hand on his shoulder. He didn't seem to know what to say, but he hoped the silence and their presence could still comfort Wash.

- 

Agent Washington wanted to be angry with the two of them, for whatever emotion similar to pity was driving them to want to touch him. He remained tense for longer than he probably should have. After all, relaxing wasn’t exactly something he was too familiar with. He had always strived for greatness, maybe he’d wanted to be heroic or remembered or just kill a bunch of aliens, he couldn’t even remember anymore. When he joined Freelancer, the A team specifically, and just barely made the bottom of the leaderboard, he kept himself training a lot. Not training as much in the past few weeks along with everything he’d been through, relaxing took a little time.

 

However, there was something about the contact with both of them that calmed him. The previous conversation was fading from his thoughts already, so that alone was a relief. He stopped himself from questioning why North had come over, why York was still holding on. He stopped himself from telling them that he was fine and moving away. He felt his muscles slacken and he accepted it. Maybe they were technically wanted for questioning or under arrest warrants, but he didn’t think anyone would come through the door anytime soon. That, or he didn’t want them to, which was good enough for Wash in that moment. The smallest smile appeared on his face.

 

York smiled, too, when Wash relaxed. He was always so focused and worried. And, yes, they were all pretty similar. They were all soldiers. And when York had first been on his own, after he split ways with Tex when they couldn’t find the Alpha despite the second break-in attempt, he had been pretty bad. Delta told him every day that he didn’t get enough sleep and it would impair his skills should battle arise. How could he sleep when his dreams were filled with bright red hair, green eyes, regrets, and the friends he didn’t think he would ever see again?

 

He looked down at the data pad and noticed that he’d gotten through the initial security. York hadn’t done much hacking at all recently. If he had needed to, Delta would usually just go in and find the information in a matter of seconds. And he missed Delta, he really did. York hadn’t been on his own in his thoughts in what had felt like such a long time. Delta had stopped him when he started to think about things he didn’t want to think about, but there were no barriers now. And maybe he still didn’t think about them out of habit or regret or anything else, but it was lonely. The silence was horrible, and he still woke up worried and confused for a few seconds more often than not.

 

York looked back up at North and Wash, and his smile returned. The other two sitting close had his thoughts a bit lighter. Or maybe his feelings, but he was still conditioned to ignore those. Some things are hardwired. Still, York pondered for a minute how much Wash really meant to him. Because he meant so much.

 

Knowing that North was his felt so nice. The older man was so wonderful in so many ways. And York he was embarrassed and angry at himself for even thinking that maybe North didn’t hold all of his feelings. And while he didn’t know anything about relationships, York knew that love took time. And he already knew he cared a lot about them. He felt like a terrible person for wondering, just for a minute, what Wash would feel like in his arms or how he might take the lead in a kiss. He felt like an asshole, and he wondered for a minute why North would actually like him. He’d always come across as an asshole to others in the past. Was North really that good at reading people, that he’d seen through York’s bullshit? Probably.

 

York had never considered the word ‘love’ before. Not with Carolina or anyone else. For a while he’d thought that people were exaggerating lust and being happy to be near someone. He’d thought that the dumb shit you saw in films was unobtainable. And then, he’d thought that maybe he just wasn’t meant to feel that. He was okay with it, he satisfied lust and he had friendships that mattered a lot, but he’d never felt comfortable with the word ‘love’. He’d started considering it recently, though.

 

He didn’t want to disrupt the calm quiet that had settled, nor did he want to see Wash get tense again. So, he quietly took his hand off Wash’s leg and looked down to the data pad. He keyed in a search through any of the UNSC or related servers for ‘Project Freelancer’.

 

Wash glanced to York when he removed his hand and felt the smallest bit of sadness. He wasn’t stupid. He knew that he’d let himself fall into his feelings for the other two. And while he didn’t know what had happened with York and North back at the base when North told him about his feelings, other than that York hadn’t taken it badly, he was still okay with letting himself care about them again. The dumb banter he had with York or even the look in North’s eyes when he thought Wash wasn’t looking were both bringing back his feelings and his care for them. Because he knew it was impossible and foolish to think he could ever stop caring about the two men.

 

It felt nice to think about both of them getting closer, but the smallest part of him thought that maybe he would be cast aside if York ever stopped being incredibly stupid and realized that he obviously cared about North. Their flirting was almost as obnoxious as York’s used to be with Carolina. It was almost worse, since North flirted back with York. The knowledge, or at least fear, that he would be second best to both of them still wasn’t enough to make him want to leave again, though. He would be okay with it, as long as they never actually left him behind. He would go through anything in order to just be around them for whatever remaining time they all had.

 -

He felt Wash start to relax under his hand and North scooted a bit closer, glancing at York at the foot of the bed. He watched the way the man watched Wash, at the emotions flashing behind his eyes, coming and going too fast for North to clearly discern each one. When York pulled his hand away he couldn't help the small twinge of disappointment at the loss, and he asked himself why he would be sad that York wasn't touching Wash anymore.

 

It was all too easy to let himself fall into affection, to find himself considering what it would be like if he somehow had both of them in the way he now had York. He hadn't wanted to wish for that, didn't want it to appear that he was taking York for granted or was getting tired of him already. In reality things were much different; North knew he was incredibly lucky that York had reciprocated his feelings, and he knew that some people went through entire lives without finding people as perfect for them as Wash and York were to him. He wanted to appreciate every moment with them, wanted them both to know how completely they had him wrapped around their fingers. He was shameless in his devotion to them, at least until it came time to tell them. For so long he'd thought that it was always easier to keep such things to himself, to protect them and care for them and joke with them but never to go further. Making any moves might ruin what they already had, and under no circumstances did North want to lose York and Wash.

 

It had taken a botched coverup of his feelings, a great deal of pain on both sides, and a desperate apology to finally get him to admit his feelings for York. If North wanted to even begin the conversation on asking Wash to join them in...whatever they had (could they call it dating? It wasn't as if York had taken him out on dates or anything. But the idea of calling York his boyfriend was still nagging him in the back of his mind. He'd have to test the waters on that.) he'd have to admit his feelings again. He wasn't sure if he could have another conversation filled with so much emotion so soon, so much potential to go so wrong.

 

Because what if York thought North was trying to leave him? What if he thought North already wanted to move on to someone else? What if he thought North wasn't happy with just him, and he needed someone else to occupy his time when he got bored of York? Just the thought was unwelcome, North didn't want to think about what that conversation would look like and he didn't want to consider causing York more pain if he didn't have to. He knew that he cared a great deal about York--the word "love" drifted to the front of his mind, and maybe it wasn't quite love yet, but he could easily see it growing into love and the thought filled him with a wonderful warmth--and even if they never broached the topic of Wash being with them he knew he would be perfectly happy. Still, the potential for more was enticing, and North had wondered what it would be like to have all three of them together enough that maybe someday it would be worth a shot to try for it.

 

He looked at York, at the focus the man had on the data pad in his hands. "So that's the next order of business, then?" he asked. "We find the Director?"

 

Admittedly, after finding out the extent of what he'd done, North was absolutely on board with ending the man's life. He deserved what was coming to him and to think that so many had died while he still lived filled North with a terrible, dark anger. But they also risked getting more attention from the UNSC, or simply spending a great deal of time on a mission that they would never accomplish. He didn't doubt that they were capable of the mission, but The Director was smart, and surely he knew people were after him. It wouldn't be easy to find him, and North couldn't help but worry that he would lose York and Wash to their pursuit of revenge. They were in danger of letting the past consume them, especially if they went around reopening wounds that had just recently been stitched up.

 -

Wash felt himself tense just a little bit at the _mention_ of the Director. If he thought about it, yeah payback would be nice. They could make him answer for everything he did to them, their teammates, the Alpha. And the three of them were much more likely to find the man than some UNSC Justice Soldiers ever would be. Wash had heard mention of Tex and York and a few others' attempts to get the Alpha, but he had been moved. He wouldn't know where to begin looking for either the AI or the Director.

 

"That could certainly work," he spoke quieter than he usually did. That was either from being held by North or the fact that he had been a soldier for so long, he'd nearly forgotten how to think for himself. York had been out for so long, now. North has always seemed capable of making strategic decisions, and he’d led many small teams during missions. Wash, though? Well, he'd been at the bottom of the leaderboard and had assumed that was for more than one reason.

 

Wash had a deep desire for revenge. He had enough anger for three men, probably. But it wasn't his call. He wouldn't take them down that road. They would surely be seen at some point, which would put them back on the UNSC radar... There was no telling what could happen. They could go to prison and be separated for the rest of their lives. They'd all certainly killed enough under the Director's orders. Wash grew angry at the thought, but he leaned into North a bit more and stayed quieter.

 -

York was typing at a ridiculously fast pace, since his 'look it up sneakily' plan didn't really work. He didn't have to hide what he was doing so he let his hands move on the data pad just as quickly as his brain could work. Finally he stopped and brought it a bit closer to the right side of his face.

 

"Well, we won't be the only ones looking. Anyone involved in the Project is wanted for various crimes, conspiracy, Earth Geneva Convention violations, blah, blah ... Doctor Leonard Church named, Aidan Price, whoever that is..." York looked up at them, "All the Agents who aren't dead are listed." He looked down again and said, "and Wyoming, Wash, and me. I guess this went out before the Meta found us."

 

It was very strange to see his name in print. He hadn't seen it or written it in so long. He could barely remember hearing it. He was pretty certain Delta used it right before he was gone. He'd been Agent New York for so long, it seemed. He wondered if he was even still worthy of the name he saw listed. That man had a guilt-free conscious. He had two good eyes and a dumb, easy grin. York held the data pad out for someone to grab, because reading for too long gave him a headache and he didn't want to look at his old name staring up at him.

 

He cleared his throat, "We can either find him or get out of the UNSC's reach, well, off their radar anyway." He wasn't sure what he wanted to do. What's left of his pride wanted to confront the Director, wanted to ask him how he could do that to his daughter, to any of them. That part of him wanted to hold a weapon point blank to his head and shoot him dead. For all of them, for Carolina. So much of him wanted revenge.

 

But he wanted to hold on to what they had, too. He wanted to take the time to grow even closer with both of them, figure out a new life, keep them out of harm's way no matter what. Living with what they did and with going without seeing the man responsible brought down would just add to the pile of regrets he had piling up. He had the feeling that it wouldn't matter if he was with them.

 

York looked to North. He was the oldest, he had the decision-making qualities both York and Wash kind of lacked. He was so important, that York knew he'd do absolutely anything for him. He had lost his sister because of the project. If you looked at it in statistics, York had probably lost the least out of all of them. He didn't feel like he could make a decision for that reason and so many others.

 

York put a hand to his forehead, thinking that maybe he should lay off reading for a while. He still sat on the other side of the bed from them, and he didn't think to join them. It was a small bed, anyway. He looked back down at his hands, already missing having something to do with his fingers.

 -

North found no surprise that the other two might be looking to him for guidance, that as the oldest he had a certain obligation to try and lead them and keep them safe. It almost felt weird to think of them as a cohesive unit and not as numbers on a leaderboard, but it felt more natural, too. North felt comfortable with that. He wanted to protect them, but also knew that keeping them hidden away forever would only let the anger fester and nothing good would come of that.

 

He could keep them close to his side but he couldn’t make them stay there, and trying to keep them from what they wanted would only push them away. Still, whatever plan he put in place would have to mostly be executed by the other two. North would tell them what to do and hope for the best.

 

He thought of watching York fight against the Meta, of watching his friend take hit after hit, of the way York’s blood had glinted off the brute shot in the sun as it had dug into his side and North had done nothing but watch. No, if they were going after The Director he wouldn’t be sitting in some perch with his rifle, waiting for his boys to do what he told them. He would be by their side.

 

At York’s words he nodded. He had faith that the three of them could track The Director down, but others had a chance of getting there first, and if there was still a price on their heads then any attention wouldn’t be welcome.

 

“We could lay low for a bit,” he said, feeling Wash lean further into him and moving closer, resting his chin on the hand on Wash’s shoulder and looking at York. “They have to think that we’re both dead, and if Wash is off the map for long enough they’ll start cutting their losses and looking for others. I mean, they won’t forget or anything but…it’d be better than nothing.”

 

When York held out the data pad North left Wash’s side to grab it before returning to leaning against the man’s other side, sitting between Wash and York on the bed. He stared at the names and realized that they weren’t really Alex, Ryan, and David anymore. Those men had been snuffed out by what had happened to them, what the people they trusted put them through. It was easy to want to avenge them, though, when North looked at them and could only see Agent Washington and Agent New York, with none of the brightness in their eyes or genuine smiles they’d once had.

 

“We can go after The Director,” he said resolutely. He noticed York’s fidgeting and held out a hand to him, an invitation for the man to come closer and let North comfort him. “But we need to wait just a bit. Gather as much information as we can and rest up while we have a chance to.” Solid plans could come later, when they had more intel to go off of. They could get their revenge, have the closure they needed in their lives, but North wanted them to take care of themselves before they even thought of jumping back into action.

 -

York cracked his fingers in the need to do something with them. He was pondering North’s suggestions. It made sense, yes. He just hated sitting idly by. Due to his bad eye, he didn’t immediately see North’s hand. When he did, he looked up, wishing that they didn’t have to deal with so much real world crap, especially after finally connecting. He knew that was a dumb wish, though. Wishes were for children. They were soldiers.

 

He glanced at Wash for a second, but the other wasn’t too focused on anything. York gave North a small smile, or what he could form as one anyway, and took his hand, scooting a little closer. Having North’s hand in his helped the impulse his fingers had to be constantly moving. He let himself relax into North’s side and felt so much better about everything, and he almost thought it was a trick. It was strange to have the touch of someone make the problems seem less important. They were still big problems, and they mattered, but York just didn’t care as much about them anymore.

 

“Yeah, that sounds good,” he agreed with North’s plan. Had he the physical capability, he would’ve looked over, but they were on his left side, so he couldn’t quite see them. “Wash?”

 

Washington had seemed to be zoning out, just listening to the others speak. His gaze had been fixed and then North got up to hold the data pad and read it. Wash didn’t need to look at it to believe York. And maybe he wanted the revenge a bit more than the others might, but he could wait. If he had North and York nearby, then he could wait. He was worried about the others finding out how messed up he was. He thought maybe killing the Director might make the nightmares go away. Maybe he could sleep at night better, knowing the Alpha had been avenged, or something like that.

 

He knew he would need to check Wyoming’s helmet for communications soon. Maybe that would give him some kind of information to what the remnants of the Project were doing. Wash wasn’t quite sure if it was Freelancer or the UNSC-proper Wyoming had been working under, but it wouldn’t be difficult to figure it out.

 

Wash looked up and saw them sitting close. He didn’t think to sit with them, he didn’t seem to have moved since North moved. York was almost worried that Wash had zoned out and hadn’t heard him, and was about to ask something, before Wash’s eyes finally moved again and looked at North. “Yes. I agree, staying out of sight and then finding him sounds like a good plan.” His voice was already sounding a bit more like the hardened soldier Agent Washington than Wash, but he didn’t notice.

- 

North let himself lean closer into York. He ran a thumb over the man’s hand in his, enjoying their closeness and contact. It was reassuring to have some kind of goal in mind, some plan to reach it. Get information, get better, get The Director. Simple in theory, but a challenge the size of a mountain looming over them in reality.

 

He didn’t like the way Wash’s voice hardened, how he sounded less like himself and more like the cold, detached Agent Washington who had shown up and saved York’s life. North remembered not recognizing him at first, at clutching York’s body close because with his nerves as frayed as they were he wasn’t about to let some stranger touch the one person he had left in the world when he was so badly injured. And even when he’d realized it was Wash he was still nervous because that wasn’t the Wash he’d known and the lack of familiarity in the man was scary.

 

He looked over at Wash and met his eyes, wondering what was going on in the man’s head. He realized that Wash had only been open with them to a certain extent, that he still hadn’t elaborated on what he’d been doing in the time that he’d been away from North and York. All North knew was what he’d heard from York. He wondered if he’d be able to convince the man to trust them again, if he could find some way to tell him that he was truly safe with North and York.

 

Before he could stop it, North suddenly yawned, his own exhaustion catching him off-guard. He leaned further into York, hurrying to cover his mouth with his free hand. It had been a surprisingly long day for being mostly a car ride, and after their moment earlier being interrupted by Wash North wanted to get close to York again, if only to finally know what it felt like to sleep beside him. He stood, still holding York’s hand and pulling gently, trying to coax him off the bed. “Come on,” he said, “we should try to get some sleep. We’ve all earned it.”

 -

York wanted to protest that he wasn’t actually tired or something, but he had just barely seen North yawn, and that caused him to yawn as well. So, he just let himself be pulled off the bed by North. If he were thinking clearly, he might think to show more caution with how they acted around Wash, but it wasn’t too far off from how they acted before, anyway. York realized that maybe he wanted to be the one with arms wrapped around him this time, and he was in every right to have that happen.

 

Washington immediately said, “I’ll take the first watch.” He stood grabbed for his rifle. “I wanted to check the exits of the building anyway.” He checked ammo, grabbed his bag of chips and didn’t let either of them protest before he left. If they were going to be laying low, that didn’t mean he couldn’t stay alert and make _certain_ nothing happened. Plus, he wasn’t able to sleep anyway. Despite the dark shadows surrounding his eyes, giving him a look far too intense for someone of his age, he knew it would be a while before he could sleep soundly. “Who’s got second?” he asked to know which one to wake up when he returned.

 

York raised his hand before North could say anything, and Washington gave a nod before he left the room. York smiled at North.

 -

North scowled a bit when York raised his hand, and he made sure the man saw it when he turned to smile at him. He knew arguing wouldn’t do any good. “You’re the one who’s still healing,” he said. “You should get as much sleep as you can.”

 

He pulled York to the other bed, letting go of his hand to pull the covers down before turning back to him. In the low light of the room there was something so beautiful and soft about the man, something that made North want to stay in the moment forever, just looking at him. He took York’s face in both hands and leaned in for a kiss. It had none of the desperate hunger from before, but seemed to fill him with the same lovely warmth. He could imagine a lifetime of different kisses ahead of him, hundreds of instances where he got to have York close to him, and the thought had him smiling into the kiss.

 

He pulled away quickly, leaning to press their foreheads together. “I’d suggest finishing what we started earlier,” he said, “but I actually am tired.”

 -

“Basically healed,” York corrected North’s assessment. When North kissed him, his hands rested gently on the other man’s hips. Even though the action made complete sense, and was certainly appreciated, York hadn’t quite been expecting it. He found it surprising, and even though it was soft and warm, it still sent some kind of shock through York. He smiled up at North.

 

“Sleep sounds fine,” he told the other. He pushed North towards the bed in a soft suggestion the other get in first. He took off his jeans and got in next to North. York had always liked sleeping next to someone else. Too many of his sexual experiences were just that, and he was usually being ushered to the door either because the other had only wanted him there for one reason, or because the girl felt ashamed afterwards. York never really stopped to ask. The number of times he’d had to get dressed in apartment or ship hallways wasn’t something he was proud of.

 

Still, the few times someone else was close with him were wonderful. In his first assignment after basic, he’d been stationed near Sidewinder, and had needed to sleep rather close with his battle buddy to stay warm. The other guy was chill about it and the warmth had made sleeping on an ice planet both bearable and somehow nice, for a time of war.

 

It felt right to be close to North. It always had. Not that they’d ever slept next to each other, but york had certainly fallen asleep on North’s arm enough during movies before. It felt even nicer, now, though. The knowledge of how much he meant to North and exactly how much North meant to him made it easier to relax. That, with the knowledge that Wash was patrolling made it so easy to relax.

- 

In the few relationships he’d had North had always treasured the quiet moments, in which he could simply enjoy the feeling of being next to someone he cared about. He liked showing affection, had always been a bit of a cuddler, something that had caused more than one one-night-stand to leave well before he would have liked them to. He wasn’t cut out for those kind of relationships, he’d realized that early on. He wanted too badly to settle into the afterglow with someone in his arms, to be able to wake up curled into someone’s side. And as much fun as a night of mindless, nearly anonymous pleasure could be, North would much rather have someone there in the morning too.

 

He slipped his shirt over his head and got into bed, pulling the covers up around himself and York after the other man got in beside him. He scooted close to York, not sure how much contact the other man wanted, and turned to lay on his side facing him. There was a nice familiarity to it, even if they’d never shared a bed before the closeness between them was enough to get North to relax, smiling a bit at the man in front of him.

 

“You know,” he said softly, “If someone had told me a few months ago that I would see you again and that we’d end up sharing a bed, I would have called them an idiot.” In the dimming light of the slowly dying fire, York’s eye still seemed to shine just a bit. “I’m glad I was wrong.”

 

He didn’t like to think of the time he’d spent before York had found him again. Even though he was with South his sister had barely spoken to him, and he noticed the more he talked to Theta the more she seemed to want nothing to do with him. Theta almost never let him sleep for long, and he’d spent more nights than he wanted to admit thinking about what York could be doing, where he was. If he was thinking of North too, if he even thought of North at all. It had seemed stupid and sappy every morning after, when he looked back on his own thoughts, and he’d disgusted himself with his ability to pine over someone who wasn’t even there.

 

He didn’t want to think that there were any upsides to losing Theta, but it was certainly easier to let himself drift off to sleep, especially with the knowledge that York was so close and Wash was protecting them. With York there he let himself push the thoughts of the past away, and as he closed his eyes he let himself relax.


End file.
